


The Golden Phoenix, the Iron Wolf

by gnostic_heretic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (Hungary!), Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Mild Gore, Trans Female Character, Well almost everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-03-12 02:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13537947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnostic_heretic/pseuds/gnostic_heretic
Summary: Based on the Russian fairytale "The Death of Koschei the Deathless", the story of a journey, a prince and a king, and a man who could not die; with a side-cast of witches, familiars, and princesses, and their lesbian birds wives always ready to save the day.





	1. The Golden Kingdom

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!, so if anyone is not familiar with the original story, it's actually an open source text that you can find here: https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Red_Fairy_Book/The_Death_of_Koschei_the_Deathless  
> This fanfiction will follow, more or less, the original plotline, with more depth and many details changed here and there.  
> I hope you enjoy the read- all the mythology and folklore notes will be at the end of every chapter.  
> Eliška is the name I picked for Czech.

In a certain land far in the mysterious east, farther than the highest mountains and deep into the wilderness of Puszcza Sandomierska, there was a small kingdom prospering with peace and serenity. At its very core, there was a majestic castle with towers so high that anyone who climbed to the top could see across all borders of the land, and inside it a garden so beautiful, filled with all kind of rare trees, bearing ripe fruit and flowers that all year round filled the air with their rich fragrance. 

Inside the castle lived the king and queen, noble and just, and their two royal children: the  prince Feliks with his sister Eliška. 

He was a fair youth of twenty, bright and radiant as the sun; his golden hair circled his head like a crown, or a halo. What he maybe lacked in physical strength, he had in wit, and no one had seen a prince before with such a quick and clever mind.

The princess, on the other hand, had taken the darker hair of her father; her brown eyes were sweet like a fawn's, but no one should've been fooled by her sweet looks. Because in truth, Eliška was fierce, and determined, one of the most skilled falconers and swordfighters of all the reign.

When the prince and princess were still in the very flower of their youth, something happened that no one could have ever expected. Their parents were taken by a sudden sickness; what caused it, no doctor or healer could say. But the queen now laid weak with fever in her bed, while the king had fallen into a deep sleep for just one day before his soul finally left this world.

 

"Feliks, you look awfully emaciated. You haven't eaten-"

"How can you eat, Eliška?", the prince interrupted his sister, seated on the opposite side of the table. All kinds of delicacies had been cooked for the two of them: however, he had not touched enough food in days, only taking a small slice of bread when the hunger was unbearable. 

"For all we know, dear sister, our parents might have been poisoned. Do you wish to suffer the same fate as them?"

Eliška did not know how to respond to that; truth to be told, deep down, she was also scared. Of betrayal, and of course, of death; although she could not imagine why anyone would do such a thing to their parents, she knew that poison might be the reason of their sickness. But she also knew that after their parents' death, the life of the kingdom depended on them. Hunger makes people weak, and a weak princess is an easy target.

Feliks, on the other hand, did not seem to understand that: he grew more and more weary each day, and it seemed like it would only get worse. A sickening paranoia and anxiety had taken the place of his bright and sparkling personality, and Eliška had not seen his smile or sleep ever since the day the king and queen fell ill. 

 

She had almost convinced him to have at least some gravy on his bread ( _ if i've had some, and i'm not sick, she said, it means it's not poisoned _ ) when one of the guards hastily broke into the dining room, huffing and sweating as he kneeled down before the princess.

"Your Majesty", he said, "your mother the queen has asked me to summon you to her chambers."

After exchanging a worried look, Eliška and Feliks rose from their seats and hurried to the queen's bed. And there she was, pale as a sheet, looking at her children with a gaze made dull by the pain.

"My dear... Feliks..."

The queen's voice was as low as a whisper. Feliks kneeled next to her, holding her hand- he shivered when he felt how cold his mother was, and how sweaty. It was not a good sign.

But as she felt his hand on hers, the flame of pride and determination in her green eyes was back once again, stronger than ever.

"My child, you have to promise me something before I die."

"Mother, you are  _ not  _ going to die."

She smiled at him the best she could manage, her lips shivering from the fever.

"Darling, take a look at me. If I survive the night, I'll be lucky. You have to promise me-"

Feliks wiped the tears away from his mother's eyes, as well as from his own. "Yes, mother?"

"... Promise me that you will give your sister in marriage to a strong warrior, someone who can keep our kingdom safe. As soon as possible! Because when I'll be gone, no one will be there to stop the riots, or to keep our ambitious relatives from seizing the throne from you; you are smart, my son, and you have wit. You are brave, and you can defend yourself. But let's be honest, dear: you are not a warrior, and you will never be. And,-" the queen hesitated, as if she was trying to find the right words for what she was going to say. "And, dear, I already know you are not going to give me a heir."

 

-

 

A few hours after Feliks had made his promise to the queen, she died in her sleep.

He was devastated about her death; and Eliška even more so. 

But the pain in his chest burned like never before for a whole nother reason: the words that their mother had pronounced before she died. 

The insult to his valor and his pride; his mom had not called him weak, true. But for a king to be a bad warrior, and to never give the reign a heir... that would be the death of a dynasty. Of  _ their  _ dynasty.

But what burned the most, was that his mother was not wrong.

Feliks was a good diplomat, but in this age of kingdoms at war, he was no warrior; and he had no interest in taking a wife, or in the love of a woman. 

He stayed up all night, holding Eliška in his arms until she fell sound asleep, his restless mind going back and forth on the same worries about the future of the reign.

 

When the sun rose from the horizon, coloring the sky in a slight pink hue, Feliks had already decided on what would be best for their future.

He nudged his sister's shoulder, and when she woke up, he told her to wear her best garments, and meet him for a walk in the garden as soon as possible.

 

The sun was already high in the sky when Eliška arrived, her dark hair was pulled up in a braid, entwined with silk lace and flowers to match her beautiful golden dress, embroidered with red patterns. 

The rays of the morning sun were setting her whole figure ablaze: she was glowing, brighter than light itself. An aura of holiness that only seemed fit for a true queen.

Feliks held her hand, and led his sister under the tree of golden apples, where they sat in the shadow of its branches, listening to the songs of the birds to soothe their grief before they could talk about the future, and the kingdom. 

"Eliška, I have something important to tell you."

The princess looked at her brother, a flame lighting into her warm brown eyes. Feliks shivered. 

_ The same gaze as mother's. _

"My dear sister, I've thought a lot tonight; about what mom has said, and what is to be of the crown, and the kingdom. I'll go on a long journey, to see the faraway lands, and learn of the wonders and wisdom that the world has to offer, so I may grow stronger, and more fit for my blood. Our father was a brave man, the hero of all his people: and I want to live up to his name, and to our house. 

And therefore, I've decided that you, Eliška... you will be the queen."

"Me?" Eliška frowned, confused by what Feliks said. "But why? You are the firstborn. The birthright to the throne is yours."

"Yes, and mine is the choice to give it to you. You are a strong warrior, Eliška, and you certainly do not lack the ability to reign."

He smiled at her, but she still seemed unconvinced. 

"Brother, will I rule alone? I don't feel ready for this."

It wasn't like her to give up a task so easily; but Feliks knew that this was not just any task, and he already knew how to reassure her.

"Well, no. First, I'll always be your counsellor, if you allow me. And secondly, there is a promise I made to our mother that I intend to fulfill."

Eliška was listening carefully, her determination now back into her eyes.

_ This is the sister I know; this is our future queen _ , Feliks thought.

"What promise?", she asked, wondering if it would be of any help in this arduous task.

"That you will soon be married, and will have someone ruling at your side. But don't worry, sister, because I would never have you marry someone you don't love; and I swear that I won't leave you until you find someone you see fit."

 

It was then that the sky got darker; and a storm-cloud arose, with whirlwind and lightning, and heavy rain came pouring down suddenly.

"Quick!", Feliks cried, "Let's find some shelter!"

They ran, and found shelter in a rotunda in the garden, and waited there for the storm to pass over; but instead, a roar of thunder louder than ever before crushed the air, and a huge falcon appeared on top of the golden apple tree. The falcon smote upon the ground in front of them, and became a brave youth, with long, brown hair decorated all over with crimson carnations and gathered up in a ponytail, wearing a shining armor of steel and gold. The red and white coat of arm on the cloak the youth was wearing was the symbol of a noble house that Feliks had already seen before. 

"Well, prince Feliks!”, the youth spoke, “Before I came as a guest, but I have caught news in the wind that your fair sister is looking for a betrothed! I am the Turul, ruler of the Magyar Királyság."

The Turul bowed to them, their long hair falling like a drape on their shoulder. Feliks furrowed his brows, looking at the youth before him. Something was not right. He had already heard of that name, and land before; but the image in his head didn’t add up.

"Noble Turul; I believe the last time someone with this title was introduced to me, it was a maiden, and not a knight; certainly not a falcon."

The Turul laughed, and walked to the side of the princess, placing a crimson flower into Eliška's hair; the princess’ face flushed, becoming almost the same color as the carnation.

"Well, you caught me. As I said, I already came here as a guest before, last winter; you may remember me as queen Erzsébet. Your sister and I know each other very well."

Feliks looked at his sister, who was still stunned, red as a beet.

“Eliška, do you remember her?”

The princess nodded, and her lips pursed in a small, annoyed pout.

“She beat me at the joust, and  _ almost  _ beat me in the falconry tournament.”, she said.

“ _ Almost _ , your majesty!”, queen Erzsébet said nervously. “And, my fair princess, you can’t forget what happened after the tour: you challenged me for a duel, and before we knew, we were in your bedroom-”

“ _ I’ve heard enough…!  _ Brother, please don’t listen-”

Princess Eliška was blushing, babbling something incomprehensible and gesturing so much in the air- she was so funny that Feliks couldn’t help but laugh.

“I see, I understand what happened, dear sister! It must have been a  _ heated  _ battle, for sure. But say, queen of the Southern Lands, what is it that you want from us?”

 

The queen in the shining armor collected herself and kneeled down, taking a firm hold of the princess' hand. She placed her other hand on her heart, looking up intently at the royal siblings.

"I love Eliška, your Majesty, and I want her to be my wife. I, the feared Turul, ruler of Magyar Királyság, am asking for your sister’s hand in marriage."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The tree of golden apples is mentioned in another Russian Fairytale, which I thought I should mention here; "Tsarevitch Ivan, the Firebird and the Gray Wolf", which inspired the title of this work. You're going to find more references to this soon!  
> *The Turul is one of the national symbols of Hungary. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turul


	2. Blood and the Forest

Days follow days, hours chase hours; a whole month went by.

Eliška wavered in her choice: she really did love the Turul, her dear Queen Erzsébet. The Queen from the South was a fierce warrior, a clever strategist, and a competent ruler, but- for Eliška the idea of being outshined by her beloved in strength and valor was a sickening one, made worse by the feeling of not being ready for a responsibility as big as her new title.

In the end, though, the presence of Erzsébet at court grew on her every day; and in a month of time, a wonderful wedding was celebrated, and people from all the kingdom swarmed to the castle to get even just a glimpse of their new, and beautiful queens.

Queen Eliška was a rare beauty in her white wedding dress; her dark hair fell ever so slightly over her shoulders in waves, her head crowned by a braid weaved with pearls. 

Queen Erzsébet, on the other hand, was the most handsome woman the realm had ever seen: at the altar, she stood proud in her fur-lined cloak and tunic, with brooches and jewels bearing the symbols of her royal dynasty, white diamonds and red rubies shining all over her chest. 

After the banquet and the feast, the melodies of the pipes and the dance of the maidens, the new queen's brother, prince Feliks, prepared himself for his last, long night at the castle.

His travel chest had already been filled with a change of clothes, and a bag of gold. His sword, something he had barely touched before, would now become his most trusted companion in this journey.

What he was looking for, he could not say. For knowledge, perhaps; or maybe, to find stories to tell his sister and Queen Erzsébet and their children, and his nephews' children once he grew old. 

_ Or maybe _ , he thought, as a thorn of sadness prickled his heart,  _ maybe I am looking for love, and happiness; and someone who can tell my stories, our stories, with me once I will be an old man. _

Truth to be told, Feliks' heart had been filled with a certain dark, heavy loneliness ever since the Turul had come to ask for Eliška's hand, and he could feel the fraternal affection of his sister shifting away as her heart grew more and more enamored with the heart of her wife-to-be. 

Even before that, after his parents died, the fear of death felt trivial when he compared it to another terror growing in his heart: the fear of dying without ever having known what  _ love  _ felt like. The fear of dying alone.

He read about it in the ancient legends and myths, and heard it in the rhymes of the poets and rhythm of the folks' songs, but he could not recall ever feeling anything like that in his life for somebody else. He fantasized about it, for sure; but fantasies were not realities, and a dashing prince was unlikely to crash into his window, take him away, and ask Eliška for his hand in marriage.

(Although,  _ to be fair _ , that seemed to be what happened with his sister. The lucky lady, she was!)

With a heavy heart and the nostalgia of his home and family already growing in the pit of his stomach, somehow, Feliks managed to fall asleep.

When he woke up, it was already midday; it was time to say goodbye to his sister and his new sister-in-law, and start his journey with their blessing.

When he left on the back of his favorite white mare, he could not stop himself from crying, nor from remembering his sister's tears. But he knew he was doing what was right; and so, his journey began.

 

He rode and rode, further into the North, always greeted with hospitality by the commoners of his reign and the people of nearby kingdoms alike; farther after the endless plains and rye fields, into the swamps that proceeded into a thick, dark forest of evergreens.

Riding deeper into the forest, he came to the point of being left with very little food; the forest was rich of berries and herbs, and he followed a small stream along the path to never run out of water. But the young prince was not used to life in the wilderness; and, unlike most young noblemen of his time, he hated hunting with a fierce passion. Most of all, he grew weary of being alone. He was sure it had been at least a week of time until he had last seen another human being- although he was not sure, since sometimes, the darkness of the forest was so thick that he could swear night time had come earlier. 

Feliks had considered turning back on his tracks and changing his direction; until one day the forest came to an end into a small plain, and there, he saw a whole army lying dead on the ground. 

 

It was a gruesome sight: the water of the stream was soaked with blood. A smell of putrid meat, iron, and dirt filled the air. He could not take a step without stumbling on a dead man; the look on their faces, the gaze of the empty eye sockets that had been eaten by the crows was making Feliks sick, his head spinning with horror and fear, and above all, a devastating sorrow for the lives of those men and women who had once been alive. Someone's father, sister, son, mother, friend; lover; a precious life lost that could never be replaced.

_ "You are no warrior."  _

His mother was right: because this was the price to pay for every war, the price of power and glory and victory, and he absolutely could not withstand it.

He clutched the reins of his horse until his knuckles went white.

Feliks could feel his eyes and his face  burn, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. 

The sun was setting behind the trees, and the deep red hue of the sky only seemed fitting; red like the Earth; she was bleeding, and so was he. 

 

Choking back his tears, Feliks cried aloud,  in search of someone who could answer his questions.

"If there be a living man there, let him make answer! Who has slain this mighty host?"

A long moment of silence followed. 

The cries of the crows in the sky sounded louder than ever. The wind blowing from the south was howling between the trees of the forest. A bad omen, maybe: a call from his kingdom.

_ You are no warrior. You should have never left. _

Until suddenly, a grunt came from a point in the battlefield- and sure enough, a living man was there, struggling on the fleeting moment between life and death. 

A spear had pierced his stomach, and blood was still flowing from there. Feliks dismounted his horse, to pour some water into the mouth of this poor man, and hold his hand in this moment.

_ Because worse than fear of death, is the fear of dying alone. _

To the warrior, he repeated his question; and with his last breath, the man answered him.

"All this mighty host has been slain by King Tolys the Grey Wolf, ruler of the vast Forests."

Feliks noticed the wolf's head embroidered on the man's cape: one of the men of this king, for sure. And he knew that wherever a battlefield was, it wouldn't take too long to find an encampment. Sure enough, a trail of smoke was rising from a point in the forest, and a dim light came from between the trees; with his heart beating like a hundred thousands war drums, he rode into the woods, taking on whatever risk awaited him. 

 

In the middle of the smaller tents, where wounded soldiers were being tended by nurses, and those unharmed were drinking and cheering, stood one tent that was taller than any other.

Two men were guarding it; tall and mighty warriors, for sure, intimidating with their long beards, fur cloaks and horned helmets. If they only wanted, they could have crushed him with one hand; but Feliks knew that to take his life and assault him for no reason, would be to make a new enemy of his own reign. He came in peace, with no ill intention; the king, if he were a smart man as much as he was a fierce warlord, would see in him a potential ally and not a threat. So he approached the guards, while trying to appear as calm as possible. 

The men gave him a look that made his blood freeze.

"Who are you, and what brings you here?"

Feliks cleared his throat, and introduced himself. He stated why he was there: that he had been travelling for many weeks now, and he wished to meet with the king, and learn more about his land, his people, the battle that took place. He tried to keep his voice as calm and dignified as possible, but the thoughts were racing in his mind.  _ How will they react? _ Maybe, those big, armed men didn't share the customs of hospitality of his people. 

The guards’ stares didn't get any less cold, or threatening; after a few seconds of tension, one of them simply gestured him to give his sword. 

"It's a precaution", he said, "your Majesty."

Feliks gulped. If gave them his only weapon, he would be alone in a room full of warriors and guards,  _ unarmed _ ; but on the other hand, those people could offer him food, shelter, and the company he craved after all those days of loneliness. 

How he missed talking to someone else, and having another human's presence by his side! He was tired of being left alone with his restless thoughts, of hearing his own voice in his own head from dawn to dusk; the only company he'd had was in his dreams at night, and even then, it was gone as soon as the faintest noise woke him up. 

 

When he walked into the tent, the smell of smoke and alcohol overwhelmed him. Men and women were sitting on the ground, scattered everywhere in a circle; a big fire was lit in the middle of the room, and the top of the tent was cut in a hole, to let the smoke out; the trail he had seen. He had hoped that the guards would guide him and announce him, but he had no such luck. They simply let him in on his own, but the crowd, the smell, the noise were just making him feel dizzy and confused.

Feliks could not spot any crown, or gold: all he could see was the steel of armors and leather and fur. There was no man in there that looked like a king. 

If he had to guess, one of the men sitting closest to the fire (and roasting what looked like a hare on a stick) would have been his best guess. He was at least six feet tall, and the horns on his war helmet made him look even taller; a menacing giant with a long, dark beard, and a fair, noble woman in a brocade dress and beautiful copper jewels sitting at his side, her bright red hair styled in a long braid- maybe his queen. However, there was no way to be sure unless he asked; but asking who the king was would immediately attract these people's suspicions on him. Feliks looked around to find someone he could talk to while keeping a low profile until finally, he saw a smiling, cheerful young servant intent in filling the cups for the warriors, and he decided to approach her.

"Ma'am, it sure is a wonderful feast, isn't it?"

"Sure is!", she laughed at him, passing him a full cup of alcohol. He stared at the drink: it looked like beer, but the smell was somehow...  _ different _ . He was  _ not  _ going to drink that.

"Well," Feliks said tentatively, "the  _ king  _ seems to be enjoying it. Roasting a whole hare for himself!"

The young lady chuckled. "Sir, you've had too much to drink! Or perhaps you are a new soldier? You know, I come from a village by the sea, and I know- seeing all these new faces can be overwhelming at first."

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and whispered something in his ear. "But, that is not the king! The big man is Ažuolas, son of Aras. The king is over there, sitting on the wolfskin."

Feliks turned to look where the lady was pointing. 

On the wolfskin sat a young man, beardless and with a delicate, yet sharp-looking face. He was not wearing a helmet, nor an armor, certainly not a crown: only a simple tunic, a leather belt and boots, and a fur coat. Feliks would have never bet on him, out of all people in the room, to be the king.

But there was no mistake, he thought. The young man was the one sitting on the wolfskin; the only such seat in the whole room- and, he noticed as he looked more closely, the older warriors all revered him with a look of love and respect. 

_ The same look the army and the people of the kingdom had given to his own father. _

 

Careful not to bump into any of the drunk men and women, he proceeded towards the king, still unsure of what he should say or do.

He tried his best to not catch too much attention, but this time, he failed. All eyes in the room were on him: the strange man approaching the king.

And soon enough, even the man he was trying to approach noticed him, after a woman at his side whispered something in his ear.

The young king adjusted a wild strand of long, brown hair behind his ear and looked towards Feliks.

His eyes were on him; a fierce shade of blue, or green, maybe, dark and murky as a seastorm.

Feliks gulped. He could feel his heart beating, threatening to break out of his ribcage.

Suddenly, the king spoke:

"I am Tolys, the Grey Wolf, ruler of the land of the vast Forests and the Northern Sea. Who are you, stranger guest? What brings you here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, no end notes this time- just hoped you enjoyed reading this, as much as I enjoyed writing it! I feel like this is the biggest project I've ever made for a fanfiction, and the next chapter is going to be longer, much more light-hearted, and finally have some much needed romantic lietpol action after the gruesome bits in this one. Stay tuned- I'll post chapter 3 as soon as I'll finish writing chapter 4. :D


	3. Moonlight and fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this is a quick update- but I went ahead and wrote two more chapters, so I have plenty of material to post in the future now without needing to rush it or be anxious about it, and I thought... well, why not? This is a lietpol fanfiction: let's give the people what they want!

"And so, you see, Prince... the reason why all you saw at the battlefield happened. I am not fond of war myself, but they were the ones who started it." 

Tolys leaned closer, his face slightly flushed. Feliks could feel his own face heat up as well- maybe the heat of the fire, maybe the alcohol. Most of the men and women in the room had retired to their tents by now, but the king had made him his guest of honor, and they were still there, talking. His throat had gone so dry that he had caved in and drank the thick brown beverage he was offered. It tasted like bread- yeasty bread- but it was better than nothing.

"The people from the East and South", Tolys continued, "won't stop burning our Forest to create fields for their wheat, rye, and all of that. They think that we are savages and could not possibly defend ourselves from them, but they are wrong. If you destroy our land, it's our right to take it back. If you anger Medžiojima, she will be on our side; and the war will be won, for sure."

"So you have like, no fields?"

Feliks' question made the king smile. "Of course we do have fields.", he explained, "where the Forest naturally grows thinner and thinner and eventually stops, and our people live from what the Sea has to offer. There we have fields of everything your people have, Prince. But we are people of the Wild: without our roots, we are lost. Tell me, do you not have a forest in the South? Is there none left?"

The thought of the pines of Puszcza Sandomierska filled Feliks with nostalgia of home, and made him realize how unnecessary his question was. 

"Well, we do have a forest. But the cities have been there for centuries, your Majesty... so we have forgotten, maybe, how to live like your people do. We have forgotten the Gods you still worship... it's all lost knowledge, to our kingdom. You win some, you lose some."

"Oh, no, you're wrong." 

"I beg your pardon?"

"You see,  _ you  _ might have forgotten the Gods. But the common people? The people will never forget. They'll never stop telling their legends, in their stories, in their art. Ask any old woman if she remembers the Gods; maybe she will tell you no, she doesn't. But then ask her to tell you a story, one that is as old as the World, the ones that her grandmother told her when she was a child. And if you hadn't forgotten, you'd know it's about them."

 

Feliks had nothing to say to that. He remembered the stories he was told as a child, of heroes and princesses and fairies, and he wondered if the king was right. 

His thoughts were clouded by the alcohol, and his body was growing tired. Now that they had stopped talking and settled into a comfortable silence, with the noise of the fire cracking and of the crickets singing outside, the weight of a whole day of travel was starting to catch up to him. 

In the room, only a few girls were left, the ones serving drinks to the king, and they were probably just waiting for him to go to bed.

Feliks stood up, leaning his hand on the King's shoulder to balance himself- just to then notice what he had done, and remove it immediately.

_ What was he thinking _ ? He felt so embarrassed, he just wanted to disappear.

"Thank you, your Majesty", he said, awkwardly fidgeting with the empty cup in his hands, "I should, like, go to sleep? It's been a long journey, and I need some rest to leave again tomorrow. Can someone take me to my tent? I mean, if I have one- Since you said I'd be your guest-"

It was then that Tolys  _ held his hand _ , a firm grip to help himself stand up, and Feliks forgot what he was even going to say. 

"Yes, Prince Feliks, I'll escort you to your tent. I mean, my tent." - _ was it anxiety he heard in the king's voice _ \- "Um, our tent? If you don't mind, of course, or I'll get my men to set up a new one..."

"No!"

The voice had come out louder and more high-pitched than Feliks expected, and Tolys- the king, had let him go of his hand at once. 

"I mean, like", he corrected himself, covering his mouth with his hand, "no, don't set up a new one."

Tolys smiled, and for a split second, Feliks felt so high, and hot, and sick,  _ and oh my god why did he have all of that garbage to drink, now he was going to throw up _ \--

"Follow me."

 

The sound of the horns woke Feliks up in the morning, with a headache so bad that he wished he could behead whoever was responsible for this.   
_ No one but myself, for drinking all of that... stuff,  _ he thought.

On the opposite side of the tent was the king, sleeping like a baby and completely unbothered by the noise. Feliks was tempted for a second to wake him up himself; but, when he considered the situation carefully, he decided to get dressed and call for someone in the king's own entourage to do that. He was saddling his own horse when the king approached him and called out his name, running in his day clothes and a dark fur cloak. Feliks sighed. He had hoped he could just go away without having to say "goodbye", with the message of gratitude he had left the servant to deliver.

King Tolys got closer and closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder- a strange behavior for a king, and one he had barely met at that. But without any shadow of a doubt, the customs of his people were different... and Feliks didn't mind too much. 

"Prince Feliks, I found you! I am sorry that you must part ways with us so soon. Yesterday night, we had such a pleasant conversation, and..."

"Your Majesty, I should be the one to thank you. You have my gratitude, for all you did for me... for us." He patted the horse's neck; his trusted mare had been part of the hospitality of the people of the Forest as well, her mane brushed and braided by the stable boys.

"Well, in fact, there is one thing I need to ask you."

"And that would be, your Majesty?"

"Well..."

The king was hesitating, and fidgeting with the buttons of his cape.  _ What was making him so nervous _ ? Feliks furrowed his brows.

"Well?"

"...well, I was wondering if you were still travelling up North. Because, you see, if you are, then you are going to be in my lands, and- I was wondering-"

"Yes, My plan is to go further in the North.", Feliks answered, trying to not  _ smile  _ and  _ failing _ . 

Tolys smiled back at him.  _ Dazzling _ .

"Then, if you please, you can join our troops and be my guest. We will have a great celebration when we get back, and it would be a great honour... to have you at my side."

 

From that day onward, for a week until they would finally reach the fortified city, Prince Feliks was asked to ride along with the king. What the man lacked in knowledge of philosophy and poetry, he had in knowledge of the wilderness, its dangers and its fruits alike. 

When they rode their horses side by side, Tolys would often show Feliks a certain plant or animal, explaining which herbs were used for medicine or poison, and the types of snakes he would have to watch out for.  

"But you should not kill them, ever", he made sure to say, "because they keep the border between life and death, and killing one is certain to bring bad luck, and death in your family."

Not just snakes; wolves were also sacred to the goddess of the Forest, Medeina. 

And a wolf decorated every button on the king's cloak, the only silver he wore despite his title. He claimed his family to be descended from a high priestess of the Goddess, who bore the child of a wild sacred wolf, sent by the Goddess herself to have a descent among humans. Therefore, all people in his family tree had wolf blood, and were blessed by Medeina. 

"That's an interesting fairytale.", Feliks said, wondering if there was even a legend about his own family; and if there  _ was _ , it would have been strange for him not to know it.

"That's  _ not  _ just a legend, or a  _ fairytale _ .", the king snapped. "It's the  _ truth  _ of my ancestors."

Feliks froze in his seat; it was the third time now that he had said something stupid like that, without thinking about the consequences. 

He wondered if he was overstaying his welcome, or if he would lose the King's favors unless he was able to hold his tongue from now on. He had a bad feeling about that, in the pit of his stomach, that he could really not explain. The thought of continuing his journey alone was not unbearable, and the practical reasons for staying with Tolys and his troops were not the source of the absolutely dreadful stomach ache that was taking over him- but then, what?

Maybe, he thought, it had been so long since he had found someone he could call a friend; his sister was far, far away now, and she was usually his company and confidant.

Fortunately for him, the gentle likeness of Tolys' face was not just appearance, and reflected into his kind soul. He seemed to be forgiving when, after a few minutes of awkward silence, he asked Feliks to tell him something about his family in return. 

Although it was not a story of gods and wolves, Feliks told him about his parents and his sweet sister; how they died and he gave up on the crown, and Eliška had married the Turul of the Magyar Királyság, queen Erzsébet. 

When he heard her name, Tolys nodded. "That was a wise choice," he said, "I've met her a few times, when we were both younger. A fierce warrior and a smart woman, fit for a throne. Not to mention, her wingspan is impressive to say the least."

Feliks laughed at the joke, remembering when she first appeared as a bird of prey.

"I suppose, from now on, our descendants will say that their ancestor is the Turul, and they have falcon blood in their veins."

"A falcon's blood, and a  _ falconer's  _ blood."

"It's an odd match, right?" Feliks smiled at the king, just to see him smile in return. He quickly turned his gaze away, his blood suddenly rushing to his face. He could almost feel his heartbeat in his ears. "Your majesty," he said, his voice so low that it got lost in the breath of the wind, "I think  _ queerness  _ runs in the family."

 

When they finally reached their destination, Feliks was surprised to find out that the "big celebration" would not be held in the palace, but in the forest outside the walls.

When the last sun before the night of the Spring Equinox set into what they could see of the horizon, the top of a thousand thousands trees that protected, fed, defined the heart of the land, they followed a trail along the river to arrive at a place that the Gods held sacred. 

There a seat had been prepared for the king, decorated with an embroidered banner. A grey wolf on a black field; and another next to that, a golden phoenix on blood red drape.

Tolys leaned closer, and whispered into Feliks' ear. "It's for you. Do you like it?"

Feliks didn't know how to respond- a seat, next to the king- wasn't that too much, even for a honoured guest? How far did hospitality go, for the people of the Forest? 

But it would have been rude to refuse, and so he nodded and nervously took his place on it.

Near the river, the maidens devoted to the Goddess had started singing, and dancing. One by one, holding each other's hands, they walked into the river and settled into a hoop.

The light of the night sky, of the crescent moon and the constellations, was reflecting into the calm waters and glowing on every ripple. The white tunics of the priestesses enhanced it, and made it look like their pale skin was glowing as well, a magic circle cast into the water.

It was then that the high priestess lighted a bonfire, and everyone else was invited to join them in the prayer and in the circle, to sing and dance in celebration of their victory. 

First joined the warriors, and the heads of the most important clans. Feliks immediately spotted Ažuolas, towering over everyone else even without his helmet, dancing and holding the hand of his wife. Then came the children: dozens of toddlers and kids, their little heads crowned with oak branches and leaves and the red berries of the butcher's-broom. And then, in order, should join the King, with his family, before the rest of the people.

Feliks was feeling nervous- what was his place there, exactly? He felt like he was invading something sacred, even if he had been invited. 

When Tolys stood up (likely, to join everyone else), Feliks suddenly felt lonely, and alien. It was then that, unexpectedly, the king extended his hand, inviting him to hold it.

Unsure of what to do ( _ was this permitted? was it disrespectful, for a foreigner, and a non-believer, to join the circle? _ ) he stood, face to face with Tolys. The king's face was red, burning; the light of the bonfire illuminated only half of him, and Feliks could swear he could still see the freckles on the other side. Instead of holding his hand and join, he froze on the spot; he felt dizzy, and his thoughts were scrambled all over the place.

"Um, your Majesty- is this ok?", he asked, hesitant to take the next step.

Tolys smiled, but his eyes were looking away, into the cracking flame of the bonfire.

Everyone else suddenly stopped dancing, waiting for him to join; Feliks felt the eyes of the people on the two of them.  _ He wanted to disappear _ .

"Yes. In fact, there is a reason why I brought you here. I wasn't sure at first, but... dear Prince, I want you to join the circle with me. Don't feel pressured; only if you want to."

Feliks felt relieved, but he knew in the back of his mind that there was something else, something he was not reading into the lines. The way everyone was  _ staring  _ told him that much.

"You brought me here... to dance with your people?"

"I brought you here to join the circle as a part of the King's family."

"But I'm not-"

"You can be." 

Feliks turned his eyes away from the gaze of the crowd, and back to the King's face; he was looking at him now, expecting him to understand  _ something _ . The singing had stopped; the only sounds he could hear were the cracking of the fire, and the erratic pulse of his own heart. 

"What I'm asking, Prince Feliks", Tolys said, taking a hold of the prince’s hand, "is if you would like to stay here by my side."

Feliks was speechless. Was it his hand sweating, and shaking- or was it the hand holding his own?

"Ah, of course, you can travel wherever and whenever you wish, and I will travel with you. I just wonder if you feel the same way as I do- and before my people and the Gods, I'm asking for you to take my hand in marriage."

 

He didn't know how he did it, or what he thought exactly. He swore that inside his head, he could only hear the stars in the sky, singing a song that no other human could hear. He felt the fire hot inside him, going from his veins to his skin, burning and glowing, his eyes swelling up with tears, his mouth stuck in a silly-looking grin- he tightened his grip on Tolys' hand, and together they ran to the people, to join their dance.

Late into the night, when the celebration had subsided and everyone sat down around the fire, Feliks heard in the wind blowing over the trees the sound of wolves howling from afar. 

Medeina watched from the Forest, Tolys said to him, and she liked him. 

Feliks smiled, leaning his head on his betrothed’s shoulder. Maybe it was as he said; and legends, after all, are never just fairytales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many notes with this one, and before I proceed to the mythological aspects, I just want to point out something I've been struggling with while conceptualizing, and writing this chapter: the whole wedding/engagement aspect. I mean, who gets engaged after a week? It's a valid concern and I know it might be hard to suspend your disbelief when it comes to this. But in the original story, Ivan Tsarevich and Marya Morevna get MARRIED, after a couple days. I needed a way to adapt this... in some way... that would allow me to have more backstory than "two days" and some sort of commitment, although not as "heavy" as marriage...! I hope you guys can understand that this was not an easy task, and I tried my best!  
> Just consider that in older times, if you were serious about loving someone, engagement and marriage were the way to go, and Tolys just wants to be a dashing forest gentleman LOL  
> I hope this didn't disappoint anyone's expectations- I poured lots of love into this chapter, and I hope you who are reading this can sense it as well! >_<;
> 
> Medžiojima is a hunting goddess in Lithuanian mythology/folklore, with a masculine face, who is said to cry when people start cutting trees; because, "if people cut down the forests, there will be no Lithuania".
> 
> Medeina is, always in Lithuanian legends, a goddess who protects the forests (she also cries when people cut trees!) and refuses to marry, choosing instead to be escorted by a cool pack of wolves (honestly, can you blame her?).  
> According to the legends, Medeina protects animals from hunters, and sends her hares to lead hunters astray. 
> 
> Snakes are and important symbol of life & rebirth in many pagan religions, and Lithuanian paganism is no exception! The reason why they're seen as such is that snakes shed their skin, and are "reborn" from it each time they do.
> 
> Honestly, I have no idea if what I depicted here is an accurate ceremony, but I tried my best... from what little information I found about Lithuanian solstice rituals, folks singing, mixed up with what I know from my personal experience with *other* pagan practices!


	4. War Cries at Sunset

Life at court was different from what Feliks was used to, in many ways.

The castle was a cold and dark place, even during the spring. The black carved rocks it was made of absorbed all light, and seemingly, all water, making the air so hideously humid.

It had none of the airy, open spaces of the home he left behind. Since every dance and banquet took place in the forest, it had no ballroom- and even the Throne room was narrow and small.

The lack of space made him feel like he was suffocating: every room was a coffin and every space, a trap- his only solace were the wonderful view from the windows, and the company of the man he loved.

_ Maybe if I had the blood of the Turul in my veins, I could feel the wind on my wings and fly back home whenever I wanted. _

He contemplated the nature that surrounded them, the trees and the flow of the river;  _ our true home _ , Tolys had said. The people of the Forest did not need any decoration, or ballroom, or a bigger, prettier place, because the Forest was their home (and it was bigger than any castle, that was true enough) and the flowers and leaves their gold and diamonds. 

"But, my dear, flowers wilt with time, and gold does not."

Tolys chuckled, and kissed Feliks' hand. "No, they do not just wilt. They turn into fruit, and in the winter, into wood to light a fire and stay warm, and into food for the new flowers to be reborn in the spring."

Feliks frowned; he supposed that his beloved was not wrong. He had not considered that. 

"You see, in the end, gold is just a rock. The Forest is alive, Feliks. The Gods have breathed life into each tree, and each animal, and into all of us to be a part of it."

"Yeah", Feliks pouted, "but, like, I still want a crown for our wedding!"

Tolys laughed, his dark green eyes shining as bright as the stars at night. "That, I'll make sure you shall have."

 

After weeks of waiting, finally, Feliks received a letter from Eliška. When he saw the bird approaching, with a red ribbon and a message tied to its feet, he could barely contain his excitement.

Running into the narrow corridors of the castle, he reached the secretary of the king, a plump old woman who knew the art of training the homing pigeons. 

"Ma'am, is the letter for me?"

"Sure is!", she said with a smile, and handed it to Feliks.

It was just a few lines; but he hadn't heard of his sister for such a long time now, that even a short reply to the letters he had sent was enough to make him overjoyed.

 

_ My dear Brother, _

_ I am excited to hear about your engagement. How is this man, the king? Is he kind? But more importantly, is he handsome? I know of the people of the Vast Forest at North, but I have never met them, or been there. I've heard it's a wild land that mothers even wilder people.  _

_ But I trust your judgement, because you have always been wise: and Erzsébet tells me that this man is a good catch. We will be glad to be at your wedding ceremony, in May.  _

_ With the ribbon is a silver whistle; blow in it once if you want us to reach you, twice if you are in danger; three if your life is at stake. The two of us will fly to you in the bat of an eyelid, whenever you need. _

_ Eliška _

 

Feliks put the letter and the whistle in the little bag at the side of his belt. He had to write a reply, as soon as he could get his hands on some parchment and ink. 

"Ma'am”, he said enthusiastically, “reserve your fastest pigeon for me! I will need to send a letter later today."

The secretary nodded. "No problem, m'Lord, but I wonder if you could do me a favor."

Already on the way out of the pigeonhole, Feliks stopped, giving a puzzled look to the lady.

"What could it be?"

"A letter came for the king this morning, and I wonder if you could give it to him. It's confidential."

He hesitantly agreed to take the letter in his hands; a small parchment roll, tied with a black ribbon. A bad omen.

 

When he tried to reach the king, he was told that his betrothed was sitting at the council. Without shadow of a doubt, it must have been something important. the sun was already low in the sky when the door of the council room opened, and Tolys and his most trusted advisors came out.

"I've been waiting for you for hours.", Feliks said, his impatience clear in the tone of his voice; but upon seeing the face of his beloved, he regretted using such harsh words.

It was as if he had lost all color on his face, and the twitching of his eyelids drew attention to the dark shadow under his eyes; it looked as if someone had woken him up in the middle of the night. And judging from Tolys' reaction, the reply that was about to come would be just as harsh as Feliks' words.

"Well, I've been at council ever since you were asleep and snoring in your bed this morning, and even earlier than that, when the sun had not risen yet. I haven't eaten or rested in a whole day, so please, don't be so  _ selfish  _ for once and understand that I have my priorities."

"Ah..."

Somehow, the words refused to get past Feliks’ throat, and that was all he could manage to say. 

_ He is right _ , he thought,  _ and I need to learn how to hold my tongue _ . 

The look of contempt in his beloved’s eyes was too much to bear, too heavy. He could already feel the burning at the back of his eyes, the tears coming up.

He saw him walking away, and he wanted so desperately to call for him, to tell him that he didn't mean to say that, that it was just a mistake, a miscommunication...!

"Ah, Tolys, uhm.”  _ I’m sorry-  _ no, the words had lost their way once again. He paused- until his voice came out, low and shaken. “A letter came for you. It's confidential."

_ Wrong! That is not it at all, that is not what I meant, at all. _

The king turned his head, his gaze still hard as steel. Eyes that cut deep.

"A black ribbon", he said, grabbing the parchment abruptly from Feliks’ hands, "a bearer of bad news. The sigil of Valdas."

Feliks looked as Tolys read it. He noticed the sweat breaking on his brow, the grip of his hand tightening on the parchment. The shadow of rage building up in his green eyes, green as the forest and the sea he ruled.

After what must have been less than a minute, the king spoke.

"The bastards...!"

"What's going on?", Feliks asked, confused. He knew the letter brought bad news; he wondered just how bad.

" _ Vikingar _ ", the king said, his voice low with anger. "They attacked our coast. They will sail up the Nemunas, if we don't stop them."

"What will you do?"

Tolys sighed, and ran a hand through his messy hair. "It's  _ war _ , of course. I need to call the council again." He left in haste, and Feliks followed him, trying to keep up with his steps.

"My dear, are you sure about this? Your army is not as strong in sea combat as it is on land."

"My army is as strong as I need it to be."

"You will risk defeat-"

"I will not be defeated, Feliks."

"You will risk your  _ life _ !"

Tolys stopped, and turned around to look at Feliks, eye to eye. The prince was crying, his blond hair a mess, wild strands of gold sticking to his flushed cheeks.    
The red light of the sunset coming through the window painted their long, tall shadows on the dark walls of the castle.

"I  _ will  _ risk my life, my Prince. It is my duty to my people, and to my land." 

Feliks shook his head. "What about your duty to  _ me _ ? We are to be married! _ What is victory worth, if you will never come back? _ Let Lord Valdas and his troops handle this, and-"

Suddenly Tolys' arms were around him, tight and strong and  _ warm _ . The feeling of love- of all anger forgiven, forgotten...

"I am not scared of death, Feliks. 

If I am to die, I'll die with honour, like a King should. And I swear I'll keep my duty to you, when our souls will be reborn again... like flowers in the spring. We will not just wither."

...and yet, the words he spoke were cold, cold and sharp like a blade, running through Feliks' heart, side to side and again and again.

 

When Tolys left at the break of dawn, all he had for Feliks were a kiss, a promise, and a warning.

 

"I'll be back, I promise to you", he said, placing a kiss on the prince's lips, for the first time- a kiss that left both of them blushing, and their hands trembling; "while I'm gone, the keys to every room of the castle will be yours, but please- there is a room on top of the tower that faces the East. You mustn't go there."

Feliks had cried as he watched him ride away on his horse; but in the end, there was nothing he could do. 

_ He was no warrior. He would be of no use on a battlefield. _

His days at the palace now seemed dull, and empty; Tolys had asked him to be the Lord of the castle, but with the current situation, the only people left were him, the servants; and the few men and women that could not fight, the sick and old, pregnant women and their kids. 

Every now and then a letter came from the battlefield, and the situation seemed to be in their favor. Like Feliks had predicted, the army was not as mighty at sea as it was on land; therefore, their new strategy was to lure the vikings into pillaging empty villages along the river, just to then use their knowledge of the Forest to attack them and wipe them out.

A savage,  _ useless  _ war. Before the Vikings had attacked, their people and the people of the Forest were in peace. What was it that they wanted, anyway? They were not after claiming the land, apparently; only stealing as much as they could, and sail away... if they were to ask, would Tolys really deny them some financial help?

And, once again, Feliks was alone. Alone with his thoughts, this time in a dark and cold palace in the middle of nowhere. He spent hours and hours staring out of the windows, at the Vast Forest and the birds flying over the trees. 

Until one day, he noticed something odd: a black crow with a crooked wing, doubtlessly trained by someone, flying three times around the castle, just to then disappear for hours into a small window, on top of the tower that faced the East. 

It wouldn't have been noteworthy if he hadn't observed it closely. But there was something about the way the bird came back every day making the same flight, entering the same window, to then fly over the forest to the East, disappear, and come back at around the same time in the morrow: day after day, always the same.

What was it, exactly, that was locked in the Eastern tower? 

Feliks had paid no mind to the tower before, but suddenly, he couldn't avert his eyes and thoughts from it. If Tolys hadn't spoken, he likely wouldn't have had a second thought about the crow, or that place- but now, it was as if a mysterious obsession was attracting him to it like a moth to the flame. 

A few times now he had walked up the stairs to the heavy, dark door that protected that single, tiny room. It had three locks, all made of sturdy steel, all covered in strange symbols that Feliks had never seen before. From behind the door, he sometimes had heard the faint noise of rattling chains; and sure enough, he heard it again every night, when the sun had set and the cold and heavy silence of the castle was filling the air he breathed- in his nightmares, in his wake, before falling asleep, he heard chains rattling and drawn on across the floor, and the cry of crows coming from the windows. 

He was sure, at this point, that it must have been a specter haunting the castle- or maybe, a ghost after his person. The ghost of his parents’ disappointment, maybe; just the thought made his heart heavy with guilt.

Until one morning, after the umpteenth sleepless night, he could not take it anymore. He grabbed the bundle of keys that could give him access to every room in the castle, determined to know what creature, human or not, was hiding behind that door.

He tried and tried to open the locks until he found the right keys, heavy and odd, carved with mysterious letters of a language he could not read. As soon as the keys entered the locks, they opened with a loud  _ clack  _ that echoed through the stairway.

He gulped as he lifted a shaky hand to the handle of the door. 

Was this really a wise choice? 

 

It was then that he heard it again. The sound of the chains dragged on the hard stones of the floor; and a sudden draught coming from the cracks in the door, cold as the winter wind.

 

He pushed the door open, and found himself facing a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens...! And just to give a logical "arc" style conclusion to this otherwise liminal chapter, I am going to upload chapter five immediately after. :)  
> As for footnotes, there isn't really a lot to say... For the symbols and language on the locks, what I was thinking of was specifically (I thank tumblr user pokytoad for unknowingly inspiring this) protection/binding spells in the ancient Ruthenian language, and written in the Early Cyrillic alphabet- an alphabet that Feliks would not be able to read, since the latin alphabet (...with "extras"?) is what is used in Poland.


	5. Winter in Chains

The man was crouched on the floor, his hands and feet tied with heavy iron chains; he was thin like a skeleton, and old, his long white hair fell all over his body.  
The room was dark, and the only light came from the small window that Feliks had seen from the outside; there was something eerie about this place, from the symbols engraved in the walls, to the cold, freezing air that surrounded the old man. Between the white locks covering his face, Feliks could only see his big nose, and a violet eye staring at him.  
"Who are you?", the man asked, his voice as low as a whisper.  
Feliks gulped. This man was, likely, the reason why Tolys had told him not to look into this tower. He had to be careful about what he said, and how much he would tell about himself. Judging by the way this man was kept, he must have been a dangerous person; but all Feliks could see was a weak old man.  
"I am Feliks, a prince of the southern lands, and I'm soon to be wed to the king. Who are _you_ , sir, and why were you imprisoned?"  
The old man lifted his head to look at Feliks, and _smiled_. He had a hideous red scar on his neck; almost as if someone had beheaded him, but his head magically took its place again.  
"So your man has not told you, Prince of the southern lands? Maybe the king loves your pretty face, but he still won't trust you. I was once you."  
His smile and the tone of his voice was now seriously getting on the prince's nerves. _Was this man mocking him?_  
"Hey, old man", Feliks snapped, "what do you mean by that?"  
What kind of joke was that, even? If this man was taking him for a fool, he was wrong in his judgement. The man didn't even flinch; he kept staring at Feliks, and a dark shadow in his eyes made the prince's stomach turn.  
"I was once to be wed to _your_ king. When he was a boy of sixteen, his hand was promised to me by his father; and see how he repayed me, Prince! He stole my spells, my freedom, and my dignity; locked me in this place, without a single person ever talking, or looking at me anymore, hoping that one day I will die of loneliness."  
A cold shiver ran down Feliks' spine; there was something wrong about this room, and about this man's story, and the way he smiled while he was telling such terrible things. When Tolys had been sixteen... and how old was this man? When it came to the elderly, it was hard to tell. Seventy, maybe a hundred? What spells was he talking about? What had he done to deserve this?  
He would have liked to ask a hundred questions; to this man, but more than anything, to Tolys. He wondered if the man was right: why did his beloved not tell him about this?  
The thought of his love for him being so superficial and shallow actually made him feel sick.  
Was he not competent enough? Was he not strong enough? Was he, after all, just in love with his _pretty face_?  
In the meanwhile, the man continued his story, unbothered by the stream of questions and doubts in the prince's mind.  
"Wouldn't it be such a miserable death, your Highness? To die alone, with no one by your side to listen to your last words, to hold your hand. Chained to a wall, unable to even look out of the window... _like you always do, don't you_? At least you can do that."  
But a question stood out more than the others, for sure. _If he hadn't seen a single person in this room for all these years, how come was he still alive?_ During all of his time at the castle, Feliks had never seen anyone bringing any food or water to the top of the tower. Did they do it during the night, when everyone else was sleeping? But then again, it wasn't until recently that he had started noticing something off about the place. He snapped out of his track of thoughts, and he gave another long look at the man in front of him. His smile was now seriously scaring him.  
"Who are you?"  
"Ah, forgive me; I'm just an old man, and I can't stop babbling nonsense."  
_No_ , he thought, _asking this man will give me no answers. I cannot trust him_.  
He would have to ask Tolys, at the time of his return- hoping that this time, his beloved would trust him. Feliks turned around, ready to leave the room and the man at the back of his mind. He got the keys ready in his hands, to close those locks as fast as he possibly could.  
"My Lord."

He turned his head to the old man, just one last time. He could see both of his eyes now, a gaze piercing through his soul. Somehow, he found himself unable to look away.  
"My Lord, if you would be so kind, would you fulfill a last wish of mine?"  
Feliks winced. "Why would I do that?"  
The man adjusted his hair out of his face, his chain making a terrible rattling noise as he moved his arm just slightly.  
"Well, you see. In my life, I was a tremendously powerful magician. Now, my power is gone; I am nothing but a relic, and every breath I take could be my last."  
"So, I should do it out of compassion?"  
The old man chuckled; there was something unsettling about the way his laughter sounded like a child's, Feliks noted.  
"Well, _most_ of my powers might be gone: but if you fulfill my wish, I shall make one of your wishes come true. My wish... my wish is to have a cup of fresh water, to soothe the pain in my throat. Please, your Majesty."

Feliks thought about it for a moment. If the man was saying the truth, he could wish for Tolys' life to be safe, even on the battlefield- _any_ battlefield, even in the future. If the man was telling a lie, however, what did he have to lose?  
A cup of water, and then he would be locked once again, and he certainly was not going to come back. He had said that Tolys had left him there to die alone, and that pain would be enough of a punishment, for whatever he did to deserve it.  
_Meanwhile, if Tolys is safe, I will not be the one to die alone._  
The idea of his beloved coming back from war unharmed was filling Feliks' heart with hope as he ran down the stairs into the kitchen, to fetch a bucketful of water and an empty cup.  
When he came back, he kneeled on the ground before the old man. He filled the cup with water, and brought it to the man's mouth.  
After he had drank it all, the man coughed.  
"Ah, my lord", he lamented, "your kindness is an example for every man who wishes to call himself noble and just. Your Highness, my throat still feels so, so dry; if you would be so kind, to give me another cup..."  
Feliks did what he was asked. He filled one more cup for him, and one more again.  
After he drank the third cup, the man smiled, and asked Feliks to tell him his wish, so he may grant it. The prince held his hand in gratitude; he noted that the man's skin was cold to the touch, as if he had been long dead- but he wouldn't let this bother him, not now.  
"Old man, thank you for granting my wish. I wish for my beloved King to always be safe from harm, no matter how many wars he will need to fight, when, or where; I want him to always come back alive, so that we may spend the rest of our days together, until the very end.  
So that he will not die alone, and neither will I."

It was then that the old man started glowing with light, a light so strong that Feliks jumped back in fear, shielding his eyes from it with his hands.  
When the light was finally gone, he could not believe what he was seeing; where the old and emaciated man was sitting in chains now stood a handsome youth, almost as tall as the room itself.  
The naked body of the man was now covered with a beautiful tunic, white with gold embroidery, shining as bright as the full moon; his white hair, earlier as long as his entire body, was now short and nicely trimmed. The only things unchanged were his smile, the red scar, and the deep violet eyes gazing upon him.  
"Thanks, young Prince, for freeing me. I promise your wish will be granted, and King Tolys will be safe. Do you know why, my Lord?"  
Feliks was completely frozen, speechless. He could only lay on the ground and watch as the tall youth kneeled before him and leaned forward, his face now so close to his own that he could feel his cold breath on his own skin.  
"Because I'm going to take back what's _mine_ , that is why. He was promised to me, and he ought to fulfill that promise, still. He'll be safe at my place, Prince.  
I almost feel sorry for you, but your wish was so foolish! The beautiful thing about youth is recklessness, after all, and the innocence...  
Remember: there's something worse than dying alone, without having ever known love. To lose love once you have known it, and spend the rest of eternity in a lonely sorrow: this is what you should be fearing, _your Majesty_."

"Master, you are finally free! I thought I might never see this day, with the way you were withering away!"  
The voice came from the window; the prince and the now freed prisoner turned their heads towards the source of it.  
A crow, perched between the iron bars, was looking towards them with its crimson red eyes. It was bigger than any crow that Feliks had ever seen.  
"Vlad, you came just in time." The young man smiled, walking away to greet the crow.  
Feliks' entire body was shaking, his legs felt limp and weak; that was the crow he had seen, he was sure. He _knew_ that something wrong was happening, that his gut feeling was right.  
It was clear as daylight now: _the crow was his informant!_ How else could the man know that he was always at the windows, every day, alone with his loneliness and waiting for his beloved to come back?  
With a snapping sound, the big bird turned into a young man with hair of the color of rust, while his dark wings turned into a heavy black coat. _Just like Erzsébet_ , the prince thought. The sorcerer and the crow were talking about something, but the words were confused in Feliks' mind, as if a thick fog had taken place inside of his head.  
_Your sister... my horse... that boy._  
He watched as the man in white touched the iron bars at the window, freezing them until they cracked into hundreds of shards; and how the crow turned his coat back into wings, and together they fleed the tower.  
Suddenly, Feliks felt his strength and rationality come back to him, as if he had just woken up from a drunken frenzy. He gathered all of his forces into his legs and ran to the window, shoving himself out as much as he could, almost losing his balance.  
"YOU", he shouted, "YOU HAVEN'T TOLD ME YOUR NAME!"  
From the back of the crow, flying towards the West this time, the sorcerer spoke.  
"I'm Ivan", he said, loudly enough for Feliks to hear, "but they call me Koschei, the Deathless."  
After that, all that Feliks could do was watch them disappear into the horizon, powerless to do anything but pray for Tolys' safety.

As the sorcerer promised, after a few days a message came from the battlefield, tied with black ribbon. The war was won; however, there was no trace of the king.  
His prayers had not been answered.  
Some soldiers said they had seen a Demon take him away, with red eyes and wings as dark as the night. Feliks knew it to be true; and it was all his fault.  
When he received the letter, he spent the whole day weeping in his chamber. A young maid in particular was moved by his tears, and decided to take care of him herself. But no matter how many times she carried food, water, and warm cups of herbal infusions that would calm his nerves to his bed, the prince would not stop crying. In the next morning, however, his tears seemed to have stopped: the prince sat on his bed, holding his knees and a pillow in his arms and facing the window, staring absent-mindedly at the birds outside.  
"My Lord", the maid spoke softly, "you'll see, King Tolys will be back. He is a mighty warrior."  
Feliks' heart felt heavy and hard as stone into his chest, torturing him with every beat. How was he supposed to carry the weight of his guilt forever? He surely had to tell someone.  
"It's all my fault", he cried into his pillow, "it's all my fault he is gone. I'm the one who freed Koschei; and now, he has taken him back..."  
"Koschei?"  
Feliks turned his head towards the maid, who was giving him a puzzled look.  
" _Ivan_ , Koschei, whatever his name. He tricked me, and he took your King back from me."  
"From _all of us_ , you mean...! My Lord, I've heard Koschei's name before, in the songs my grandmother sang to me when I was a child. I thought it was just a story..."  
Feliks took his chance; this girl certainly knew more than he did.  
"Young lady, please, tell me more."  
The maid took a hand to her chin, and tried to remember the words of her grandmother.  
" _And in my dreams I see myself on a wolf's back_  
_Riding along a forest path_  
_To do battle with sorcerer-tsar Koschei,_  
_In that land where a princess sits under lock and key,_  
_Pining behind massive walls._  
_There gardens surround a palace all of glass;_  
_There Firebirds sing by night_  
_And peck at golden fruit._ "

Truth to be told, Feliks had thought about this all night long. Koschei had promised not to harm Tolys, that he would be safe at his house. If only Feliks could know where this palace of glass was- a more detailed map than the general direction of "East", he could get there. And he knew that he would get back his beloved; one way or another.  
Whatever happened, _he had to do this_. He owed it to Tolys. He owed it to the People of the Forest. He had caused this catasptrophe, and he would solve it, no matter what it would take. Koschei was a powerful sorcerer, and cunning, to be sure; and Feliks knew that Tolys must have had a good reason for fearing him, and locking him up in chains and sigils for all those years.  
However, Koschei was also right.  
Feliks had been foolish. Now he knew that even if he would fail, he was not afraid to die. Because there was no worse agony than losing the man you love, once you have known what love feels like; and to live a long life of loneliness, longing for someone you know won't be back.

"Unless I get him back myself", he said out loud, talking to no one in particular.  
"I'm sorry, what?"  
The maid was still in his room, watching over him. Feliks could see the fear in her eyes; he held her hand to reassure her.  
"Don't worry, young lady. Your king will be back, because I will get him back.  
Tell this to the council, and to the rest of your people. King Tolys will be back, because he is a mighty warrior; and I might be no warrior, but I believe that the two of us together have what it takes to defeat this Demon."  
He sent off the maid, to tell about his promise. Once again, he was going to leave for a journey; but this time, he knew he wouldn't be alone.  
Feliks took the silver whistle from the small bag on his belt, still tied with the red ribbon that his sister had sent with it, and blew in it twice out of his window.  
The piercing sound of the whistle echoed through the air. After some minutes of waiting, Feliks finally saw a familiar figure flying over the horizon; he waved his arms as high as he could, impatient to hug his sister and her wife once again, after all this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of chapter five- this is where the core of our adventure starts!  
> Feliks is set out to leave on another quest, this time to get back the man he loves.  
> Chapter six will be posted as soon I'll be done with writing and revising chapter seven!  
> A special thanks to all the people who have left comments, and kudos, and sent me messages on Tumblr telling me how much they enjoyed reading this fanfiction: you don't know how important your kind words are to me!  
> There is no greater joy, when you share a story, to see people getting passionate about it. You guys are the reason why I persist in writing- thank you, so very much! And a double, triple thanks to my boyfriend, who is my strength and ispiration as always.<3
> 
> Footnotes: the character of Koschei is popular through Russian and Slavic folklore in general; a man who cannot die, sometimes old, sometimes as thin as a skeleton (and "skeleton" is what his name means). His role is that of an archetypal antagonist- but I will try, to the best of my ability, to expand as much as I can on Ivan/Koschei and his backstory.  
> The fragment of poetry/song was taken from Stravinsky's orchestral concert, "The Firebird". Credit where it's due! Once again, a wolf and a firebird appear in the legends...! A recurring tribute to the fairytale that inspired the title of this fanfiction. :)  
> Onto the next update, where queen Eliška and her handsome bird wife will be back to the rescue, and Tolys' hair will (finally?) be less of a messy mane, and gathered in pretty braids...?! :D


	6. Reunion, Reunions

When the Turul flew ungracefully into Feliks' room, shattering a few things in her landing, Eliška threw herself off her bird-wife's back to jump into her brother's arms.

"Felek, it's been so long! It's been  _ too  _ long!"

The prince held her twice as tight, his eyes swelling up with tears.

How he had missed his dear sister! Having her close to him once again filled his heart with joy, and for a moment, he almost forgot why he had called her in the first place.

That is, until Erzsébet interrupted their moment of reunion.

"Darling, this is very touching, but- Prince Feliks, may I ask why you called for us? Two whistles means you're in danger, that was our agreement."

The smile on Feliks' face disappeared, his gaze hardened. He wiped his tears away at once, letting go of his sister. Her expression also changed, her eyes betraying her concern for her brother's fate.

_ Eliška _ , he though,  _ you haven't changed one bit, always worrying about me. _

He invited the two guests to sit on his bed, so that he could calmly explain the situation.

He told them about Tolys, and how they met. About the tower and Koschei. 

And about how it would be so, so much easier to find a glass palace by flying above the Vast Forest, rather than travelling by horse. Of course, he would need a horse to escape with his beloved; but Erzsébet could lead the way, so that Feliks wouldn't get lost. 

The queen and her wife listened to every word. Finally, Erzsébet decided to speak her mind.

"Prince Feliks, I have met Tolys the Grey Wolf when we were younger, and he is a mighty warrior. Is this man really so powerful, to be able to hold him captive?"

Feliks looked down at his own hands, suddenly feeling powerless. If a man like Tolys, someone that everyone admired for his strength and courage, could not free himself from this sorcerer- what hope did he have? With what skills could he win?

Erzsébet was right. Tolys was a mighty warrior, _ and yet _ ! Feliks bit his lip in frustration. The voice of his mother came back into his thoughts once again.  _ You are no warrior. _

Eliška spoke next; her voice so similar to their Mother's, sending a shiver down Feliks' spine.

"Darling", she told her wife, "I know what you think. But we have to help Feliks! I'm sure you're right, and Tolys is a strong man. However, if he has not defeated this sorcerer yet, there must be something holding him back. Maybe, together we can help him escape..."

Erzsébet grunted, crossing her arms to her chest. 

"I guess... I guess this could work."

Feliks smiled as he saw his sister-in-law smiling back at him, a confident smirk that made him and his sister feel reassured, and hopeful. 

"Noble Turul, I could never thank you enough-"

"Feliks", she interrupted him, "cut it out with the useless formalities, and get your horse ready; we are going to leave before the sun sets."

 

After gathering what necessities they could, as quickly as they could, Feliks, Eliška and her wife left for their quest, with the goal to find the glass castle of Koschei as soon as possible.

They travelled for three days and three nights, riding and flying without breaks, the Turul's falcon eyes scanning every part of the Eastern land in search of a glass castle. 

On the third night, Erzsébet found something.

"I think it's what we are looking for", she said, "a wonderful place, with walls of stained glass that are as tall as the trees. I saw it from above, but I couldn't get too close."

Feliks frowned. "And why is that?"

"It's surrounded by a spell", she scoffed, "so, again, I'm guessing that's only fitting for a sorcerer's palace."

"It's better if we rest for the night, dear.", said Eliška, gently tugging at her wife's arm. "We'll figure out a way tomorrow. I'll break these glass walls with my own hands if I need to!"

Feliks smiled at that, remembering how his sister had always had such a feisty spirit. 

"Queen Erzsébet, my sister is right. We will figure out a way, but we are useless after a whole day of travel. We need to rest."

That night, however, Feliks found it hard to sleep. Knowing that his beloved was so close to him, and yet he was there, laying down instead of running to his rescue... it filled him with guilt.

He looked over at the angle of the small tent where Erzsébet and his sister were sleeping.

_ If only I could be half as strong as they are _ , he thought,  _ I would have been able to stop Koschei from running away in the first place. _

He shut his eyes tightly, trying to choke back his sobs- and  _ failing _ .

 

" _ Feliks _ ?"

Eliška's voice was sudden, and it made him flinch in his corner of the tent.

He quickly tried to wipe his eyes, to hide the fact that he had been crying.

"Eliška. Why are you still awake?"

"You were crying, right?"

_ Well, straight to the point.  _ There was really no reason to hide it in the first place, really; she was his sister after all, and she had seen him cry so many times that he had lost count.

"Yes."

His voice was hesitant, and still shaken. Eliška sat up, and extended a hand to hold his.

The warm touch of her hand was familiar, and comforting- and Feliks could feel his eyes burning again, the tears harder and harder to keep down.

"It's ok, Felek. We are going to bring him back, I promise!"

"No, you don't understand. It's all my fault! And now, if we can't-"

She stopped him mid-sentence, placing a hand on his mouth.

"Please, listen to me for  _ once _ !", she scolded him, "We  _ can _ , and we  _ will  _ take back your betrothed. You think I'd let him get engaged to my dear and only brother, and then not fulfill his promise? _ Hell no _ !" 

She hugged Feliks tight, and he rested his head on her shoulder, finally releasing the tension and anxiety that had been building up inside him- his tears rolling freely down his cheeks.

"You are strong, Felek. Stronger than you think."

When the storm in his heart had cleared, the last thing Feliks saw before he fell asleep was his sister, and memories came flooding back in a half-sleeping haze. He remembered how it had been to grow up with Eliška, always at his side, always ready to defend him and watch out for him.

_ I'm sorry I could not be stronger, dear sister. I'm sorry you had to be strong for both of us... _

That night, he dreamed of the palace he called home, and the tree of golden apples in the garden. A firebird perched proud on a branch; the light it radiated made each apple glow bright as the sun, a blinding and beautiful sight.  When he tried to reach for the bird to touch it, all that was left was a sparking hot feather in his hand, glimmering so beautifully as he felt it burning his skin.

 

When the sun rose and the early birds started singing, Erzsébet was the first to wake up, and to wake everyone else.

She flew again around the glass palace, looking for a breach in the barrier. She finally found it, close to the horses' stable, and came back to report.

She started by drawing a simple map on the ground. "So, there's an opening here; but there is a young woman who takes care of the horses. In fact, I believe she's there to guard that weak point, or the spell leaves a barrier for her to come and go."

"A young woman? An apprentice, do you think?", Eliška asked, "I'm surprised that anyone would even want to live with a sorcerer like that, in such a creepy place."

Feliks shrugged. "I don't know, but we need to distract her. That's our way in, and likely, our way out..."

He looked at Erzsébet, wondering if the Turul had a plan.

"That will be simple enough if I get in first. I'll scare the horses in the stable; that will certainly distract the  _ horse girl _ , I think. And you guys can sneak in. However, we need to know if this sorcerer is at home. What do you think?"

Erzsébet looked expectantly at the siblings, and Eliška was the one who answered.

"I believe I can do that. I'll pretend to be looking for a spell, I'll make up something."

"But what if he's home, and agrees to receive you? Dear sister, this is madness."

"It might be madness", Erzsébet said, placing an arm around her wife's shoulders, "but it's the only chance we have. Let's do this."

 

When Eliška came back from her short expedition, the smile on her face told Feliks and the Turul all they needed to know before she even told them: the Deathless was out on a hunt, and wouldn't be home for a few more days. As they got closer to the palace, the siblings hid behind the trees while Erzsébet, a mighty and menacing falcon, broke into the barrier to wreack havoc in the stables.

Feliks saw the guardian, a plain young lady with a round body and face, run to the rescue of the horses in her care and desperately trying to chase away the bird.

It was then that the prince sneaked into the palace, swift as a shadow. When he made sure there was no one there, he ran- faster, and faster, until he almost couldn't feel his legs anymore- checking into every door, every space for his King.

The stained glass of the walls reflected the morning light on the dark marble floors, a kaleidoscope of colors that made Feliks feel dazed and lost, like he was running endlessly in a nightmare. 

One alley of rainbow lights followed the other until finally- finally, he could see a  _ different  _ room...

 

... And in the room, a wonderful greenhouse, he finally saw him.

 

Tolys was sitting at the window, looking at the barrier outside; and if Feliks weren't absolutely sure by the look of his face- his nose, his gentle green eyes, his freckles- he wouldn't have been able to recognize his beloved.

His usually untamed hair had been neatly brushed, and braided; he was clad in rich white silk, with a silver crown of thorns resting on his head.

"Tolys!", Feliks almost screamed, his voice so high he could barely recognize it.

The captive king turned, and the prince saw his eyes widening in surprise.

" _ You- how- _ !"

Feliks knew there was no time for questions now, so he didn't waste any; he held his betrothed's hand, pulling him forward to run.

There would be a time and place for explanations, later, and out of  _ here _ . Together, they ran frantically through the endless corridors, never letting go of each other's hand.

When they reached the exit, Feliks blew once in his silver whistle- Erzsébet left the stable immediately to reach them, offering her back to fly away.

"Are you sure there's going to be enough space?"

Tolys looked panicked, his face growing pale as he looked at the Turul. No doubt, he was still remembering the day when the crow came to take him away. 

" _ Trust me _ ", Feliks said, "jump and hold on to me!"

Tolys gulped, but he did as told; and together, they managed to fly outside, before the guardian could do anything but scream for them to come back.

 

They rode their horse for miles, without ever stopping, until by sunset the poor mare had reached her limit and had grown weak, refusing to go any further. 

Erzsébet decided to guard their little encampment by stationing on the tallest tree they could find; meanwhile, Eliška was speaking to Tolys, who appeared still shocked by the mayhem of the getaway. 

Feliks looked at the two of them as he roasted some beetroots on the fire- not the most appetizing meal, but they would need energy to leave the place as soon as the sun would rise.

Tolys noticed the look of longing in his eyes, and politely took his leave from the conversation ongoing to sit next to him. 

"So", he sighed, rolling his head to relieve the tension and soreness in his back, "how did this exactly happen? Didn't I tell you to not open that door?"

Feliks watched as his neat, silky braids fell over the dip between his neck and shoulders with every movement. An unfamiliar ( _ yet, so captivating _ ) sight that made him want to fall into the arms of his love, and run his hands through his beautiful hair, and tell him about how much he missed him so much, every day... 

...but the atmosphere was still too heavy for that, a lumbering unspoken truth lingering between them.

"It is my fault, I know. Somehow... I noticed something, a raven flying into the tower every day. Curiosity won over my common sense."

"The room was covered in sigils, and so were his chains. How did he manage to break free?"

Feliks' gaze was fixed on the roasting beets. How could he face his beloved again, after what he did?

"He... he asked for a glass of water."

Tolys moved closer to him, and Feliks felt a hot wave of blood pulsing up his neck.

"Your compassion won over your common sense."

"No, my dear. My  _ selfishness  _ did."

"Your selfishness?", Tolys frowned, "Please, explain yourself."

"Yes, my selfishness. He told me he could grant me a wish, and I wished for you to be safe."

 

The king stood up and moved a few steps away, a sigh and a frustrated grunt escaping his mouth.

"So, you could not trust me to come back from the battle? Come on, Feliks-", he almost yelled, immediately lowering his voice when he noticed Eliška's gaze on them, "-I made a promise to you. And yet, you did not trust me! But I guess I was indeed  _ safe _ , locked in the glass palace!"

The tone of his voice made Feliks' blood boil with anger. Yes, he had done wrong- but had he not acted out of love, and nothing else? Had he not rescued him? How many things was Tolys keeping hidden from him, anyway?

"Yes, about that, and about  _ trust _ : explain to me why Koschei told me he was just _ taking back what was his _ . I couldn't imagine that my betrothed, the man who promised me I'd be a part of his family, was already promised in marriage to another man, you know! If I had to consider your precedents with commitment instead of my feelings for you, I might as well have left you in the castle to fulfill your vows."

Tolys turned towards him again, and Feliks winced. He had never seen his beloved like this: the ghost of sadness so clear in his green eyes. He immediately regretted speaking to him like that.

"My dear, I'm sorry-"

"No, Feliks, you're right. I should have told you."

After Tolys said that, the sound of silence took over, loud and scary as the roar of thunder. 

The king refused to face the prince, staring into the dark evening sky instead, as if looking for directions in the moon and stars. Feliks noticed that in the heat of the moment, he had almost let the beetroots burn- and laid them on a rag to cool down.

After minutes that felt like hours, Tolys finally decided to sit down next to his betrothed again.

Feliks looked at him, expecting him to wear his anger on his face- instead, his beloved was smiling, and gently raised a hand to run through his prince's hair.

"My dear", he said, "I forgive your mistakes, if you can forgive mine. What really matters, right now, is that we are here together... let's forget the rest, shall we?"

The next thing Feliks knew, was that he was weeping in Tolys' arms, half-words coming out of his mouth as the tears rolled down his face. He ran one of his hands into his King's hair, focusing on the sensation of holding him, on his scent, on every twine and twist of his braids until the moment of heartache had passed.

 

After everyone had eaten, when Erzsébet flew back to her tree and Eliška had gone to sleep in the tent, Tolys invited Feliks to sit together in front of the fire, so that he may finally tell the story of how he and Koschei came to be betrothed.

"Twenty-one years ago", he started, "my mother, a noble descendant of the Goddess Medeina, had died giving birth to me. My father was a man with a smaller title, but an endless ego, and could not accept the death of the woman that he saw as his family's key to glory and power. He was so desperate to get her back that he sent a squire to call for the most powerful sorcerer he could find. 

It was then that Ivan came to our house, and told him he could get Mother back from the realm of the dead.

However, for such a spell there is a price to pay.  _ A life for a life _ , he said; and so my father sold his newborn child to him, to be taken on his sixteenth birthday as an apprentice."

Tolys paused. He took a cup of water to drink; his grip on Feliks' hand got tighter.

"There is a reason why the Gods ask us to accept the cycle of life, death and rebirth, dear. My mother was pulled back from death unnaturally, before she could have a chance to be reborn into a new body, with the blessing of the Gods. 

Her heart was still beating, but for this violation of the natural order, she was condemned to live in a deep, endless slumber.

My father's despair only grew when he learned that in this state, she could not possibly give him any more children; she died after a few months, when water and honey was not enough to keep her alive anymore."

Feliks could hear the sadness cracking his voice. He didn't know if Tolys even remembered his mother; still, that sounded like a painful, horrible way to die.

"What happened when you were sixteen?"

The king sighed. "Ivan came to our house, demanding to take me away", he said, "but when he saw me, instead of going for a contract of apprenticeship, he wanted my hand in marriage.

It's not like my father could refuse: one way or another, he had already signed an agreement to give me to him. I didn't think I would my homeland ever again..."

Feliks nudged his head on his beloved's shoulder, and felt the tension in Tolys' back building up once again.

"How did you manage to escape?"

"I did not really escape, no. I spent two years in the glass palace, keeping Ivan and Sofiya company and learning some of his magic arts... until I was of age, and I received news that the high council had elected me the new king of the Vast Forest and the Northern Sea. 

I didn't need to escape, because Ivan came with me to the castle. The same one where I took you, and where I managed to imprison him."

  
  


The more Tolys told him, the more questions popped into Feliks' head. But one of them stood out over all others, and he decided to ask the king out loud: why was it that Koschei- or Ivan, whatever his name, was imprisoned? What did he do to deserve such a punishment?

Tolys spoke calmly, but Feliks could still hear in his words the fear of something- of a ghost he thought long gone, that now had come back in full force.

 

"You see, I cannot say that Ivan was not  _ kind  _ to me. You have to understand that he is, above all, more than a powerful sorcerer and an immortal, the loneliest man I've ever met. 

He decided that he loved me, and yet, he treated me like a bird in a cage. I asked to spend my time in the forest, he gave me a greenhouse of flowers and fruits, and all sorts of rare and exotic plants; if I told him that I felt lonely, he sent me his own sister as a lady-in-waiting, to teach me some simple magic or to tell me about the ancient legends of their land and people. Anything to make sure I would not ruin my fancy silks, or my neat hairstyle, to ensure that the scent of perfumed oils on me would never wear off. 

Would you call that "Love"? I was a pretty thing in his hands, a passing fancy. What is the weight of a wedding vow, "until death do us part", for a man who cannot die? 

I was never allowed to leave the palace, until he saw the opportunity to become even more powerful through me. He decided that we shall reign over the Forest together, forever, and that he ought to make me immortal as well; in the same way he did with both of his dear sisters."

Tolys gulped. "You see, what you saw of Ivan in the prison; that's his real face, his real body without the magic flowing in his veins that makes him look young, even after all these centuries. The sigils on the chains blocked that flow, and you were able to see him in his real likeness. Now, you cannot use the same magic on another person. It's a spell bound by blood; but he thought of a way to make his sisters stay by his side forever, as beautiful as they were hundreds of years ago. 

And he was planning to do the same to me. Just a spoonful of poison in my drink, and I would have a painless death; before my soul could leave the room, he would summon it back into my body- but without bringing it back to life."

Feliks gasped out loud, ready to ask a question- but Tolys answered before he could even speak.

"I would be a cursed soul, manipulating an ever-fresh, yet lifeless corpse on this world. Can you imagine what an eternity like that would be like? 

Walking on the Earth without a heartbeat, without ever feeling warmth or pain again. I don't even want to call it  _ life _ !

I  _ had to _ imprison him, Feliks; how was I supposed to know when he would strike, and drop a spoonful of poison into my drink? How could I trust this man, who claimed to plan those horrible, blasphemous things out of love?

I gathered what I had learned about spells and herbs, and I managed to put some valerian in his tea and chain him in his sleep, into the tower. 

Not enough to kill him, no. But enough to save my own life."

 

Feliks felt his beloved shaking by his side, and he leaned over to hold him tight. For the first time since he had met him, Tolys was crying- a silent cry, with no sobs or hiccups, but his cheeks were wet with tears.

Feliks gently wiped them away, leaving a kiss on his nose.

"You're safe now, my dear", he said, running his hands through his hair slowly as he undid all of his braids one by one, "I'll protect you, you know?"

He remembered the words of his sister, her kind voice.

"I'm stronger than you think. We will get through this, together."

Tolys pulled away slightly, just enough to wipe his eyes with the smooth sleeve of his silk shirt.

"He will come back for me, I know it."

Feliks ruffled his hair, and left a quick kiss on his forehead. "And I will come back for you, for as long as you love me and not him, to fulfill our promise."

There was a hint of hesitation in the king's face- a hint that Feliks had not missed. Tolys stood up, and extended a hand to help Feliks do the same. "It's time to get some rest", he said, "tomorrow we will leave as soon as there's light."

 

That night, no matter how hard he tried, the prince could not fall asleep.

His thoughts grew more and more restless, chasing the shadows of doubts into his head.

He wondered what it was that he saw in his beloved's eyes, before they had decided to go to sleep; and now Tolys was indeed sleeping soundly, curled up next to him. The sound of his breathing was slow, and soothing; Feliks extended a hand to caress his back, as softly as he could, careful to not wake him up. There was something he needed to ask him, something he had not dared to speak.

"My dear", he whispered as low as he could, "did you ever love him?"

The only sound coming from Tolys was, still, the low murmur of his breath.

"Do you still love him?"

Outside of the tent, a bird of the night was screeching and hooting nearby, and the wind was blowing incessantly between the trees. 

Feliks turned his back to Tolys, trying not to think about it, trying not to think about anything- focusing on the darkness around him, and the noises that came from the forest.

 

At the break of dawn, it was Tolys that woke everyone up. 

He and Feliks mounted immediately on the horse, leaving Eliška and the Turul to fly together to the palace and wait for their return: if anything went as planned, they should have reached them in less than a day of travel.

Feliks lead his horse through the path, making her gallop among the seemingly endless trees of the Vast Forest. 

They had almost reached the sacred river when they heard a loud bang, like sudden thunder had broken in the clear sky. 

The prince turned his head, but all he could see at first was a black blur following them- it was a matter of a few seconds before it finally caught up, and blocked their road.

Feliks stopped his horse abruptly, almost too much- so much that he feared he and Tolys were either going to fall, or to clash with the person standing in front of them- Koschei the Deathless, sitting proud on his black stallion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this was a long chapter to write and edit- thank you to everyone reading as usual, thank you for your continued support and feedback!! <3   
> Chapter 7 will be posted as soon as I'm done writing chapter 8. :)  
> p.s., I've been listening to Gyvata nonstop while working on this chapter, and I think it really sets the mood? How about... I'll make their songs the official soundtrack for this fanfiction? :'D But no, seriously, check their music out if you have a chance!


	7. Rye Fields and Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am so, so sorry- it's been more than a week since the last update, which is not... exceptionally slow (or slow at all?), still, *kinda* slow for my usual rythm. Hopefully posting this will get me back into that sweet creative mood, and hopefully it'll be an enjoyable chapter for you who are reading this!

The clashing contrast between Koschei's heavy cloth of gold cape and clean, white silks with the mane of his dark steed made him look ethereal, almost glimmering with light. 

An apparition in the lush forest; albeit an unwanted one. Feliks clutched the reins of his mare, backing slowly from the sorcerer.

"Prince", Koschei spoke in a gentle and soft voice, "I see you did not understand the simple concept of not stealing other people's belongings. Once again, I've come to take back what is mine."

Looking around for a smaller path, a direction where they could run away- Feliks felt Tolys' grip on his back tightening, and his hands shake. 

_ I will not surrender _ , he thought, feeling the burning fire of anger hot in his pulse. _ We are going home. _

" _ Ivan _ ." he said, as calmly as he could, watching the sorcerer's eyes widening as he pronounced his name, "Tolys does not belong to you, or to me. Regardless of betrothal vows, he belongs to himself and to his land, his people; I see you did not understand this simple concept either."

At his right side, Feliks suddenly spotted an opening in the trees- a glimpse of hope, maybe, if he could run fast enough, he prepared to lead his mare to head in that direction...

 

Before he could even move, a knife was at his throat.

Koschei and his horse were close, so close- Feliks could swear he had not seen them move.

" _ You, insolent little wretch _ ." Ivan's words were a hiss, the voice of a venomous snake. "This time, I will let you live. Cherish my gratitude, because there won't be a third chance for you."

Feliks wanted to move, to scream, to yell, but his body was still as a statue.

The knife on his throat slid ever so slightly.  _ Burning-  _ the hot, wet feeling of a single drop of blood pouring slowly from a fresh cut.

"If you come back to bother  _ us  _ ever again, I will cut you to pieces."   
Ivan’s words were a threat, and not an empty one.

With a swift movement, Koschei grabbed Tolys' arm, effortlessly pulling him on his lap- Feliks could only watch, for a split second, the sadness in his beloved's eyes as Ivan gave his horse a quick command; the black stallion became a blur, running back to the glass palace at an impossible pace. 

Suddenly, the forest around him was silent, and the dust raised by Koschei's flight made the air heavy and stale and hard to breathe. 

Feliks took a hand to his throat; his fingers came off bloodstained.

_ There must be something he could do _ , he thought desperately, hearing the pulse of his veins beat insistently inside his head like never before- a sharp pain, a tight iron grip circling his skull like a crown.

As quickly as he could find his resolve, he rode his mare back on Ivan’s tracks, running desperately to catch up.  _ Impossible _ , that much he knew, but what were his choices?

Feliks could not let the sorcerer lock Tolys in that palace again, let him lock the proud Grey Wolf in a cage of glass and gold. The prince was soon to be a king, to rule by his beloved's side; he was no hero, true, but he was no coward either.

 

The green branches of the trees passed by and flowed in a blur as he ran through the forest, as fast as his horse allowed him to. "Just a little more", he desperately told her again and again, "just a little more, Rzodkiewka, I know you can do it...!"

He knew that she would soon reach her limit, but he could not give up  _ now _ .

He was so close, so close- finally he saw an opening in the thick vegetation, and allowed his mare to slow down. He saw the glass palace, imposing and beautiful, glowing in the sunlight. Just the sight was enough to make him feel sick.

Regardless, he pushed on, riding slowly until he found the crack in the magical barrier that Erzsébet had warned him about. 

 

" _ Koschei, I know you are here! _ "

He screamed at the top of his lungs; no answer came from the palace.

" _ I have come to take him back! Come outside and fight me, if you call yourself a man of value! _ "

He saw a shadow, a figure walking away quickly in the corner of his eye- and in a matter of seconds, Koschei was there. 

Feliks drew his right hand away from the reins to place it on his sword. He had not trained in years, and even when he did, he had never been  _ good _ ; but his sword was his only hope, the only hope he had to get Tolys back.

With a scoff and an amused look, Koschei approached him slowly, and stopped right in front of him.

"Come on", he said, "do it. Cut my head off."

He took off his cape. The scar on his neck, that was hidden by the buttoned ruffle, was now exposed. The sight made Feliks flinch, and a cold shiver ran down his spine.

Koschei smiled, his violet gaze fixed in Feliks' eyes.

"Even if you do, I'll just pick it up and put it back again. Wouldn't that be quite the sight!"

The sound of Ivan's clear laughter was enough to drive Feliks mad with frustration. How dare this man insult him like this, how dare he only think of him as a fool!

He drew his sword, ready to do as the sorcerer said. He could pick up his head once, twice, a hundred times- he would cut it off again, and again and again until he died.

 

What he forgot to consider, in that moment of rage and hubris, was that a sword was not enough if your unharmed enemy had centuries of life ahead of him, and an extensive knowledge of the Magical Arts. 

_ How many times had someone tried to kill Koschei _ ?

And yet, he was standing there, breathing and speaking, and  _ twisting  _ Feliks' wrist painfully until it broke with a loud cracking sound. Feliks lost the grip on his sword- before he could even scream, Koschei had already picked it up from the ground.

 

The sword that his father had passed to him was piercing him side to side, cutting through the flesh between his ribs. 

The pain in his wrist was gone; soon enough,  _ any  _ pain was replaced by a dull nothing, as he felt only the blood filling his lungs, and his life slowly withering away.

The last thing he heard was the voice of Ivan, ordering someone to put his corpse in a barrel, and throw it in the river.

  
  


Feliks didn’t know how he had gotten there, but the trees of the forest were not around him anymore as he stood alone in a golden rye field. He looked up at the sky, so clean, so  _ beautiful _ , not a single cloud in the vast blue; not even the sun. The spring breeze had such a pleasant scent to it, and the wonderful feeling of his hair dancing in the wind... and yet there was something, something was just not right. 

He was alone. 

_ To die alone, how would it be? A horrible death, for sure.  _

_ At least now he knew- now he had known what love felt like.  _

 

..

 

When he opened his eyes, the brightness of the room felt almost blinding.

He closed them again, shielding himself from the light- that's when he noticed the sharp, gut-wrenching pain in his chest.

He tried to scream, but before he could even breathe, something cold and soft immediately shut his mouth...

...he opened his eyes again, and a woman was looking at him.

"Shh, please, don't make too much noise! And don't move, actually! You need to rest."

The thing that prevented him from speaking was her hand, strongly pressed on his face.

He took a long, hard look at her: short hair. A pretty, plump, yet somewhat plain face. She was tall, and her dress- pants, under her skirt- somehow, the image of a person came back to his mind:  _ the horse girl _ .

Was he hallucinating? He could swear he had died. How much time had passed?

She gently removed her hand, and he tried to take a deep breath-  _ bad idea _ , now the pain in his ribs was worse, and growing...

"Ow!  _ Fuck _ !"

The young woman laughed. "Well, well, you have to be patient. It was not easy to bring you back, you know! You should thank the Turul for the water of life once you meet again, without her help you would be dead and stuck in a barrel. Give your body some time to heal, Prince."

Feliks looked at her in disbelief. Erzsébet had been there; and this woman, Koschei's servant, had brought him back to life. He heard the familiar sound of a fire cackling- he realized that he was in a cottage of some sort. 

No one else was in the room. Maybe it was safe, after all, and maybe the woman was telling the truth. "Ma'am", he asked, "what do you mean, the Turul? You know her?"

She nodded, taking something from a pocket in her dress; his silver whistle.

"Young Prince, I've been around long enough to recognize one of these if I see it. The call for the Turul, made of silver, with the coat of arms of the royal family on it. They really haven't changed how they make it in hundreds of years... nor they have changed the rules. Blow three times if your life is in danger, right?"

Something about her words made Feliks shiver. The way her hand had felt so, so cold on his face suddenly made sense when he recalled a similar sensation he had already experienced- when he tried not to pay any mind to Koschei's cold fingers entwined with his own.

Suddenly, he could see a resemblance in her face, her features.

"Ma'am, are you, by any chance... Ivan's sister?"

"You are very perceptive, I see. Yes, I am his older sister: my name is Sofiya."

With her cold, cold hands, she placed the whistle back in his hands. "It's been so long since I've heard someone calling my brother by his name. Someone who's not me or Tolys, anyway." 

 

Sofiya told him everything that had happened to him, from the moment he was left to die in her care, to the one when he woke up from his slumber.

Erzsébet had been fast enough to save him from a certain death. The water of life, coming from an ancient, magical spring in the North, had the immediate effect of healing any wound; it was a miracle he was still alive. Now she had flown back to the castle, to tell her wife about what had happened to him, and that no matter what, he was safe and in good hands: Sofiya had hidden him in her cottage, and put a decoy of stones and hay in the barrel that her brother watched her throw into the river.

"Luckily enough for you", she said, "my brother is too...  _ captivated  _ with your dear King's presence to care too deeply about anything or anyone else in this moment. He won't get out of that greenhouse even if the world were to fall apart! I think that you'll be safe here, at least for a few more days." 

"Luckily for me, I was put in your care. Sofiya, what can I do to repay you? You have my gratitude."

Her gaze met his, and Feliks could see a flame burning even in the cool, almost transparent blue of her eyes. 

"Do you still intend to take Tolys back with you?"

"Yes", Feliks said, "and as much as it's true that I owe you my life, nothing you say could possibly change my mind."

Instead of hardening, Sofiya's expression relaxed into a smile. "That, young Prince, is  _ exactly  _ what I wanted to hear.  Please, please. You have to save him... I cannot fight against my brother, nor can i leave this place, but you can. And I can help you with that."

He was taken aback; this was not what he had expected to hear from her.

"But, why? Why would you save me? Why would you go against your own brother, the blood of your blood? Sofiya, I do not understand."

Sofiya paused; then she spoke softly, with a sad, melancholy smile on her blue lips. 

 

"I don't presume you to understand. Just know that I love my brother, I truly do. But Prince, he is a lonely man; and playing God with magic has really gotten to his mind. My brother is a good man, I know it. I just want him to understand the mistakes he has made.

When Tolys came here, he was a boy of sixteen... and the only person I had spoken to in centuries, other than my brother. And yet for his youth, he was so wise, Prince!

He spoke of life, and death, and the wonders of this world. Of places that I had never seen, and magic that I had never learned, magic that is not made of spells and potions but of life and youth and  _ love _ . I watched him wither in that palace, like a flower in winter... it is too late to save myself, I know. What's done is done; and it's been so long, that I barely remember what life feels like. But he is still so young, and...!"

She bit her lip, choking back the sobs coming from her throat. And yet, her eyes did not change- eyes that couldn't shed any tears, eyes that had almost turned to glass, like the palace where she had lived for all these years.

"Prince Feliks, if I let him to Tolys what he did to me and Nata, I would never forgive myself."

Her words made his blood freeze in his veins. Feliks could not imagine, he couldn't even begin to imagine what this woman had been through. But he knew something, for sure: he knew that he couldn't let her down, and that he could not bear to see her suffer like this.

 

"Sofiya", he said, holding her hand, "I solemnly swear to you, I won't let him do this to Tolys. I won't let your brother lay a hand on him! 

I owe it to my beloved, and to  _ you _ . I owe it to  _ myself _ , and my pride, to defeat the man who almost killed me! 

I want to let him know that I have risen again from my ashes, and I won't give up so easily. 

I want him to know that he might be the Deathless; but I have almost died, and I came back, and I'll come back again from the dead if I need to, for as many times as I will need."

She sobbed, and locked him tightly into a hug; and even just for a moment, Feliks felt like her body was so warm, and full of life. Tears ran over the side of his face, and fell on his shoulder; but whether they came from her eyes, or his own, the prince could not tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:  
> 1\. I'm sorry for (almost) killing off Feliks.  
> 2\. But, to my redemption, he immediately came back to life! :D  
> Y'all, in the original fairytale, Ivan Tsarevitch was literally cut into pieces AND shoved into a barrel, into the sea- so maybe, Feliks did not have such a hard time after all... ;)  
> As usual, thank you to everyone who is still keeping up with this, and leaving likes and comments on this fic... you're the best! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well, and chapter 8 will be posted as soon as I have chapter 9 ready!


	8. The Crow and The Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY for this long delay in the updates, but I'm back with TWO whole chapters this time! Enjoy!

After days and days riding through the seemingly never-ending forest in the direction he had been told, Feliks finally noticed that the thick trees gradually thinned into a swampland, a vast wasteland flooded with bogs and riddled with snakes, weeds, and more than anything else,  _ bugs _ . 

Sofiya had told him that when he had reached the swamps, it would only be a day, or even less, until he would reach his destination.

Feliks swore, however, that if yet another bug decided to land on his face he would most definitely  _ lose it  _ before the a had passed. 

The thick mist and the muddy soil made it almost impossible to proceed as well. A smart location, he thought, for a witch's cottage- or for anyone who wouldn't want to be bothered, really.

 

When he had asked Sofiya about the horse, Ivan's steed, and how it would be impossible for him to ever succeed if he couldn't find a way to run away faster than  _ that _ , she sighed and offered him another cup of warm infusion.

"About that", she said, "he got all of his horses from Nata. I mean, our sister.

Beyond thrice nine lands, in the thirtieth kingdom, once you have crossed a foggy, humid swampland, there lives Baba Yaga. Or well, that's what the people call her these days!

Natalya has many beautiful mares, their souls and bodies have been enhanced with magic in breeding them, under the explicit request of our brother. 

Go to her, and I'm sure you'll find a way to convince her to give you one of her horses. Tell her I sent you there; I'll give you a letter with my sigil, and my signature.

And please, tell her that I really miss her... every day. I'm so, so worried about her..."

 

At a certain point, Feliks had almost given up on finding his way. He could cut the fog with a knife (or his sword), if only in the metaphorical sense. But he really, truly did not want to spend the night there: where would he even set his shelter? In a puddle? What about the _ sheer amount of bugs _ that would get in there overnight.

No, just the idea was unacceptable: he had to find the house of the Baba Yaga, and he had to do it as soon as he could.

As he attempted to swat yet another fly away from his face, he heard the outlandish cry of a bird. Overcome by curiosity, he followed the noise- and in front of him, he saw a gruesome scene: a fledgling in a nest, pestered and hurt by a snake who fully intended to make it its dinner.

Feliks knew what Tolys had told him about snakes, but when he saw the small, helpless bird… he was once again overcome, this time by compassion. He drew his sword and killed the snake, beheading it with one swift swing.

The little bird looked towards him with wide, red eyes, its beak open in surprise.

"You ought to be careful, little one", he said, fully realizing that talking to a bird would get him mistaken for a madman if only anyone was there to see, "you better learn how to fly soon, because I won't always be there to protect you!"

He turned away, ready to continue his journey when suddenly he heard a voice. The tremulous, soft spoken voice of a child.

"Thank you, kind man!"

Startled, he looked around; no one was in sight.

"You're here for the Baba Yaga, right? My brother is her familiar. I'll call for him, and he'll guide you!", the voice continued, this time more confident and loud.

Feliks finally understood that these words were coming from the bird: the tiny fledgling in the nest, looking at him with gratitude. 

Part of him told him he should be surprised; but part of him was  _ so used _ to talking, shapeshifting birds by this point, that all he could manage was to roll his eyes, and wondered what this one would look like once he'd turn into a human.

The little bird cried once again, a loud and clear call echoing in the air. And soon enough, Feliks heard the noise of beating wings- and a vaguely familiar voice calling from above.

"Augustin! Augustin, I'm back!"

A really big crow landed in the nest clumsily, due to a crooked wing. 

It was, Feliks noted, the biggest crow he had ever seen...  _ for the second time, now _ .

"You must be... Vlad?", the prince said, hesitantly.

With a snapping sound, the crow was a crow no more; instead, in front of him was a young, auburn-haired man, pointing a dagger at his throat.

"What are  _ you  _ doing here?"

Vlad's voice was a threat, filled with anger and conceit. But there was something more, something different that Feliks saw in his bright red eyes:  _ fear _ , not for himself but for the small, vulnerable fledgling and the nest behind him.

"Please, I have no ill intention! I am here to look for the Baba Yaga's house."

Before Vlad could tell him to _ go straight to hell instead _ , the little bird spoke. But when Feliks glanced at him, he was a little bird no more, but a boy of eight or nine. 

"No, please! There's no need for the knife, this man saved me! He even killed a snake to save my life."

Feliks could  _ really see it coming _ . However, he was surprised at how different the boy, Augustin, looked when compared to his brother: his skin and hair were darker. The only features they had in common were, however, extremely peculiar: the shape and color of their eyes; and their canines, uncommonly fang-like.

Vlad analysed every detail of Feliks' face with a doubtful expression, and then he looked back at Augustin- and then back at Feliks, this time, surprised.

"My brother's eyes don't lie,  _ Prince _ ."

Feliks almost winced at the obvious, too obvious tone of distaste and haughtiness that the honorific was pervaded with.

"Tell me, is it true? Did you save Augustin's life?"

The crow had not yet lowered his dagger, and Feliks was starting to regret his actions. After all, Tolys had warned him about not killing snakes, and he feared that after all, maybe his words were true.

"Well, yes. A snake was attacking him, and I killed it, moved by compassion. I swear, I am not going to harm you, or your brother! Again, I am just looking for the Baba Yaga."

Finally, the expression on Vlad's face softened and his dagger found its way back into its sheath.

"Well, it's your lucky day!", he said with a crooked smile, "You just so happen to be speaking to her familiar. Follow me."

 

Hungry and faint the prince wandered on, walked farther and farther, following the crow through the mist. Twice he asked how long it would take to reach their destination, and the crow did not answer. 

When the sun was about to set, and the faint light of dusk was about to slowly fade into the darkness of the night, at last they came to where stood the house of the Baba Yaga.    
A strange place indeed, strange and crooked and scary: an old, moldy, crumbling cottage, built on the twisted roots of trees that almost looked like a bird's legs.

Around the house were set twelve poles in a circle, and on eleven of them was stuck a human head, or what remained of it; white, ivory skulls, almost glistening in the nightfall. The twelfth alone remained unoccupied.

Feliks gulped, wondering if it was a sign that the Baba Yaga had been waiting for him.

He remembered the stories his wet nurse had told him when he was a child: the only thing he had heard about the Baba Yaga, witch of the forest, was that this kind of woman was to be avoided at all costs.  _ Never strike a deal with a witch _ , she had said; _ never trust what they promise to you. _

While he was looking at the empty pole, heart racing and legs shaking, he had not noticed that the crow had turned back into his human form. 

Vlad knocked three times on the door. 

With a creak, the old door opened just slightly, a warm hint of light (maybe, that of a fireplace) filtering from the crack.

 

Feliks didn't know what he expected to see when the Baba Yaga would show herself.

Sofiya had told him that she could not wander too far from the barrier because, if she did, the spell that bound her soul and body together would weaken, and eventually fade. 

However, Natalya was different. She was a powerful sorceress, and the first one that had taught Ivan about magic. She was, Sofiya had said, perhaps more powerful than him; but there was no way of knowing the effect a spell like the one that bound them to life would have on someone's body as it got weaker, even when the person knew how to control it, to a certain extent. There was no way to ensure that rot and decay would not take over the flesh.

When Feliks thought about the stories his wet nurse had told him about the Baba Yaga, he pictured an old, crooked woman. A face wrinkled by age and wisdom and loneliness.

Which is why he was surprised, to an extent, when Natalya showed up on her doorstep- and Feliks thought, without any shadow of doubt, that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Her long, silky white hair fell over her shoulders in soft and straight locks, a striking contrast with the deep, dark violet of her dress. 

Feliks could see the resemblance with her brother, and with Sofiya in the shape of her nose, and her stature. She was imposing, yet graceful: like an ancient statue made of white marble and ivory.

The only thing that seemed off about her was her complexion, so pale and ghostly, almost blue in the faint light; and her eyes, icy and cold, yet red and burning as if they were on fire.

She had the dangerous gaze of a Rusalka, and he could feel her power just by looking at her.

In her hands, she held a mortar and pestle. Feliks wondered if they had interrupted her from cooking, or perhaps, crushing herbs for a spell.

"Master", the crow said, kneeling before her, "this man, a Prince from the West, is asking for an audience with you."

Feliks was afraid that she had noticed him staring, but in all response, she stared back at him for a long time before she finally spoke.

"Prince", she said, her voice harsh and deep, "what brings you here?"

He gulped, wondering if he should respect any formalities when speaking to a Baba Yaga. He bowed down, staring at his own feet; his shoes were caked with mud-  _ no, this was not the time to think about this! _

"Baba Yaga", he said, his voice trembling with anxiety, "I was sent here by your sister, Sofiya. I have a signed letter from her to prove I'm saying the truth."

He raised his back, and put the letter in the hands of Vlad. The crow checked it thoroughly before handing it to the witch.

"No spells or poison", Vlad said, and Natalya nodded.

She opened the letter, her eyes quickly scanning the words her sister had written- words written in a language that Feliks could not understand.

After staring at the prince again, the Baba Yaga extended her hand to trace something on Feliks' forehead with her finger. 

"You can come in", she said, "I owe it to my sister, at least. Feel free to take a seat."

 

After making a kettle of herbal infusion for everyone with what she had in her mortar, the Baba Yaga sat gracefully in front of Feliks, tending a hot cup to her familiar and one to him.

_ Why _ , the prince thought,  _ you know I'm not going to drink this... to trust a witch _ .

"It's just blackberry leaves and fennel. You can relax."

Feliks winced-  _ could she read minds, or what _ ? Either way, it was better to keep his thoughts in check from now on.

Slowly, he took a sip of it- the taste was distinctively  _ green _ , and kind of bitter- but not bad. It was, however, extremely hot. He decided he'd drink more later, for he had already proved the witch that he trusted her. When he glanced at her cup, however, it seemed like she had drank it all in one sip-  _ as if she hadn't felt the heat at all _ ... and Feliks remembered that she couldn't indeed: she was, after all, in the same situation as Sofiya.

"You must be weary, after travelling for so long.", she said. "You should eat something."

She got up to take a loaf of rye bread; and Feliks had never, not once in his life, felt more excited at the sight of plain bread and the prospect of having it as a whole meal.

He thanked her earnestly for it, but she said it was not necessary. 

"I'm offering my hospitality not out of the kindness of my heart, but because my dear sister is begging me to", she asserted, "and tell me, young Prince- what brings you to these lands, indeed? What makes you seek my help?"

Feliks gulped down the bread he was chewing, dry and sour and so  _ delicious _ .

"You see", he said, "it's your brother that is troubling me, and his horse. Sofiya told me that you, Ma'am, were the one who gave it to him as a gift."

The witch nodded, a shadow of sadness clouding her pale blue eyes. "Yes, I did. But if you want me to ally with you against my brother, you should know that there are things I cannot do; and this is one of them."

"I beg you, Baba Yaga!"

Feliks had risen from his seat, his eyes swelling up with tears. 

The fireplace behind them was cracking; the silent gaze of the witch and the crow was on him.

"I must tell you", the prince said, "what troubles your brother brought me, and I'm sure you will understand. When he was just a boy of sixteen, my beloved Tolys, king of the Vast Forest and the Northern Sea, was sold to be wed to him."

Natalya's expression changed just slightly when he had named his betrothed.

“I know of that, as I know that your man chained my brother to a tower, powerless and helpless. I had my familiar check on him every day, trying to figure out a way to free him.”

"Indeed", Feliks continued, "he made a great offense to your brother, when he chained him up and kept him captive. But Ivan was going to do to him what he did to Sofiya, and what he did to you."

Natalya averted her gaze, and Feliks thought he could see some remorse in her hard expression; but it was Vlad who spoke to her, before the prince could finish his speech.

" _ Nata _ , I know how you feel, but you have to give this young man a chance."

 

The way he said her name was warm and gentle, and nothing like the way he had addressed her before; and Feliks noticed something, a warm spark in her blue eyes.

"You know what he's talking about, and you know that what your brother is doing is wrong."

The witch sighed in response, and nervously adjusted her hair behind her ears.

"Tolys and I know each other indeed", she said, “and I can tell you he wrote to me every week, on Sofiya’s suggestion, asking me to learn about magic: ancient spells that were passed from mother to daughter, of the kind you cannot find in books. The same ones he used to capture my brother."

Natalya's hand was shaking, and her familiar promptly held it. 

"Aren't you all the same, men? I was the one to teach my beloved brother the Craft, the Art of magic, and look what he did to me. And for someone who used such sweet words in his letters, your beloved surely used what I taught him against my family, the  _ blood of my blood _ , just to never talk to me again! Sweet nothings!

Is this the gratitude I get, after all I did for them? 

Tell me  _ one good reason _ why I should help you."

 

_ Such sweet words. _

It took Feliks a second to understand the  _ implication  _ of those words.

He observed the two people in front of him: the twitch of the witch's eyebrows, her glacial gaze. And, of course, Vlad- his disgruntled face betrayed annoyance with the topic at hand. Maybe,  _ jealousy _ ?

Feliks clutched the now empty cup in his hands. It was still warm.

He could not come up with a good reason, no matter how hard he thought about it. It was true that Natalya had run far away, in these marshy land where no one could find her. But her brother was still her brother: _the blood of her blood_ , and she was obviously still concerned for him, despite everything he had done. Who was he to ask her to betray him once again? 

Feliks wanted to disappear.

"I... you're right, I suppose. I have no good reason other than this: I love him, and I want him back."

He felt like a complete, utter idiot: this was his only chance, and he was completely blowing it.

 

Unexpectedly, Vlad smiled at him- a crooked, wicked smile. And before the Baba Yaga could even speak, he said:

"That's  _ one  _ good reason. We are going to help you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, RomBela. Can I talk about how much I love these two?   
> In this end note I want to give my special thanks and a shoutout to Sayu (ao3: The_Iron_Wolf_of_Winterfell / tumblr: aph-belarusia) BECAUSE she is like, the Supreme Expert of this rare yet beautiful ship, and she so kindly reviewed the chapters for me before I posted them. Please check out her work, if you like dark atmospheres, beautiful prose, and want to read more RomBela fanfiction! :D   
> Another special thank you to everyone who has read so far and to all the people who keep leaving their comments here and on tumblr: you guys are amazing! Thank you so much for your support!


	9. Blood Ties

Feliks shivered as he breathed in more of the cold, humid air.

The witch and her familiar had been bickering for a long while, locked into the cottage, and had asked Feliks to wait outside for the outcome. Not like he minded waiting, but the night was cold; and at this rate, by the time their argument would be settled, all they would find to give their answer would be his cold, dead body. 

As he contemplated how ironic it would be to die now, like  _ that _ , after what he had just survived, the door opened just enough for him to hear the Baba Yaga's voice.

"You can come in."

He stood up and entered the room, where he was welcomed by Vlad's smile- and the Natalya's angry, somewhat childish pout.

She gestured at Feliks to sit down, and so he did. 

"So be it, Prince!", she said,  "You wanted one of my horses, and you will have one, if you pay for it.  Usually, to prove me their worth, I have young men serve me for three years; but you won't have to serve even a year with me, considered the urgency of your situation. Just one day. I hope you realize the honor I am granting you, Prince."

"Yes, ma'am. I know that, and I am eager to serve you!" He nodded with emphasis, for he knew he had actually been extremely lucky. "So what will I have to do?"

The witch smiled, a devilish grin that made chills run down Feliks' spine. "If you take good care of my mares, I'll give you an heroic steed. But if you don't, if you lose even just one of them—why, then you mustn't be annoyed at finding your head stuck on top of the last pole up there."

Whether that was actually a threat or just banter, Feliks actually felt confident that he would succeed in the task. Ever since he was a child, he had had an affinity for horses: he was good at riding, as well as taking care of them. Surely, the following day would flow quiet like a breeze. 

 

He had been instructed to let them graze on top of a hill nearby, and indeed it was incredible how, once the witch had let him out through the back door, the landscape had so suddenly changed: grassy slopes were all around them, shining bright with dew in the pale golden light of dawn. It was as if he had entered another dimension, and Feliks pinched his cheek to prove to himself that he was not dreaming. The paddock with the Baba Yaga's mares was in front of him, and all he had to do was to let them loose and watch. 

The animals seemed docile and quiet, and he walked into the paddock to meet them.

Feliks smiled as he laid his eyes of each horse, and how could he not? How gorgeous they were! Easily the most beautiful mares he had ever seen, their long flowing manes braided with peculiar care. Surely, the witch must have loved them so much, to take such care of them; he got close to one of the youngest, and started petting her beautiful brown mane. 

"When the sun will set", he said, "it's you I will choose for myself." 

All seemed to proceed smoothly, and the horses seemed to like him just fine. But the moment he had driven the mares afield, it was as if all of them had a sudden awakening: raising their ears attentively, they heard something in the wind- and away they tore across the meadows in all directions. 

Before the Prince had the time to blink, to even understand what had just happened, they were all out of sight. 

It was the same bad, horrible moment of realization he had when Koschei's horse had similarly disappeared into the thick forest. Except now he had no horse of his own and many, many mares as quick as lightning to reach instead of one. All of them disappeared with no trace in this unfamiliar place- that didn't even seem real, like it was all just a dream turned into a horrible nightmare.

Hopeless, panicked, he sat down on a stone and let despair take hold of him.  

_ How was he going to save Tolys now? How could he have not foreseen this? Of course it was too easy to be true, of course! He shouldn’t have trusted a witch! That damned Baba Yaga! This was all hopeless! _

And so he wept, and screamed, until he could not take it anymore- his breathing became heavy, his pulse quick, his eyes dark- the pain in his chest sharp, intense as it was when Koschei had stabbed him- and he passed out, falling on the soft moss at his feet.

 

When he came to his senses, he felt the cold, damp moss against his cheek and gave a quick glance at the sky: the sun was near its setting.

_ He had failed. And now, what? _

_ His head would end up on a pike.  _

"Hah! Such a pretty decoration for the Baba Yaga's house!", he thought out loud, words lost in the vastness of the hills and meadows.

"You're awake?", said a  _ familiar  _ voice next to him.

Feliks jumped up quickly- too quickly, and the pain between his ribs was back- and next to him on the stone from which he had fallen before was sitting Vlad, posing dramatically and staring at the sunset.

Did the  _ son of a harlot _ just stand there watching for all that time? Feliks wanted to scream. " _ You- _ "

"The mares", Vlad interrupted him,  "they're at home now. Resting and content in their little paddock."

Feliks looked behind him; and indeed, it was as Vlad had said. Speechless, he just stared at him with his jaw falling.

"You're asking yourself why would the witch's familiar help you out, right?", Vlad bragged with a smile, arching his back and  _ swishing  _ his cape.

Still confused by the situation, the hours of unconsciousness, and Vlad's eccentric gesturing, Feliks tried to muster his words the best he could. "Yes... ah, like, thank you so much for your help- and  _ yes _ ? Why would you go against the Baba Yaga's orders?"

With a swift movement, Vlad sat on the ground next to Feliks.

"This is for saving Augustin. You know, I love Nata dearly, and I am the one who asked to serve her in the first place; but being her familiar takes so much time away from my brother... I feel responsible for him, and so guilty for not always being there to protect him.

I told Nata about this, and she said she would give you a chance. But I know her, better than anyone else! Even better than her dear sister knows her. I knew, from the way she avoided my eyes, that she was up to no good- and it seems I was right."

"Vlad", Feliks said tentatively, "I'm so grateful for your help, and I'll make sure to prove it to you as soon as I will be able to do so. However, have you tried talking to the Baba Yaga? About your brother, I mean. Certainly it can't be too much of a bother for her, to keep him in her house..."

Vlad laughed bitterly at the suggestion. "Nata spent half of her life adoring her brother, and half of it running away from his presence, his magic, his haunting memory, and loving him still and hating herself for it: she asked me to check on her brother every day, worried sick about what would be of him, asked me to take care of him, serve him as if he was my own master. How could I ask her to take care of my brother in turn? Wouldn't that be,  _ ah _ , an ironic twist. I'm just a servant, after all."

Feliks saw the shadows in his red eyes, glowing with tears as he looked at the bright, red sunset.

 

Together they walked back through the door, and into the moonlit swamps and fog surrounding the Baba Yaga's house. Natalya greeted them with a cold stare, enough to know that she probably knew all about what had happened.

"It seems you have succeeded, Prince. Whatever means you used, I promised a horse to you, and I owe you that much.  _ And you, Vlad _ .", she said, glaring at her familiar, "I'll speak to you later about what you did."

After that, she retired to her room, slamming the door closed as she locked herself in.

Vlad sighed, and with a gesture he led the prince to the same "guest room" where he had slept the night before- a closet that had been prepared just for the occasion, with a stack of hay and a blanket. 

"You better get some rest if you can, because I promise you, this is just the beginning. If you even feel like sleeping... I mean, since you've slept all day."

Feliks shrugged, and sat on his bed. "I probably do need to rest, to be fair. I don't think my wounds have fully healed yet."

Vlad furrowed his brows, looking at him as he carefully undid the buttons of his simple blouse.

" _ Wounds _ ? You need something to heal faster, bandages to change?"

"No, thanks", Feliks shook his head, "you better go back to Augustin. He's probably waiting for you."

With an incredulous smile, Vlad nodded as he said goodnight. "I'll give him your regards, Prince."  

 

After a long and almost sleepless night, the prince was awakened by the sounds of cooking. He rose from his bed of hay to walk out of his small room, to see Natalya- the Baba Yaga, calmly grinding something in her mortar while a big pot of soup bubbled on the stove, with a warm, earthy scent of beetroots and cabbage that filled the entire house.

Watching her from the other side of the room, Feliks could feel none of his initial fear of her. Inside her home and in the tranquility of her everyday life, after all, Natalya looked like a young woman, not unlike many others that the prince had seen in his travels- taking care of her animals, cooking and working on her daily chores. With the exception, he thought, that her farm was filled not with cows and chicken but powerful, magical horses... and she was, in fact, a powerful witch. The herbs she was grinding while lost in her thoughts could be a healing potion, or the most deadly poison. 

As she noticed his presence, her quiet expression turned into a grimace.

_ Thinking about it _ , he did feel a little scared of her, still. 

"You're awake, finally.  _ Your Majesty _ ", she said sarcastically, "breakfast's ready."

"Thank you, Ma'am!", Feliks replied, waiting for a bowl with his share of soup. 

Instead, he was served two slices of bread and a cup of tea. 

_ Disappointed, but not surprised. _

As if she could read his thoughts once again, Natalya laughed and added another slice of bread to his plate.

"Eat up, because it's going to be a long day."

Feliks did as he was told, and as soon as he was done and he had gotten himself ready for the day, the witch led him in the back once again in the place where she kept her mares.

"Have you already picked one, or should I choose for you?", she asked, opening the paddock's gate for him.

"Ah, there's one I like! That, with the three braids and a brown mane."

Natalya went to fetch the young mare, as beautiful as Feliks remembered her to be. She tied her to the fence, and took a silver dagger out of her apron.

Feliks gulped. He had a bad feeling about  _ that _ . "Hey,  _ um _ , can I ask what that is for?"

Natalya smiled, testing the edge of the blade with her fingertip.  

" _ Boy _ , I have told you that this is going to be a long day... for me, for her, and for you."

A drop of blood flowed from her finger, and she leaned down to leave a mark on Feliks' forehead.

"This is just the start. Now, give me your hand."

Reluctantly, Feliks put his hand on hers. With a swift move of her hand, she cut through his skin- a straight line, deep enough for several drops of blood to pour out immediately- he jerked his hand back with a scream.

" _ What _ ! What was that for, like, this hurts!"

Natalya grabbed his hand back, blood spilling all over her palms and her slender, pale fingers.

"I get it, it's a cut, it's supposed to hurt. Stop whining and  _ give me your blood _ , because I will need more."

The prince froze with fear as she started murmuring something- a prayer, a song, a spell, he could not tell. Her blue eyes grew darker and darker as more blood poured from his throbbing wound into her hands.

_ Not only her eyes _ , he noticed. The sky around them, beautiful as the rest of this idyllic place and gleaming bright blue until a moment before had suddenly gotten dark with clouds and thunder.

The wind blew cold against his skin, throwing his hair all over his face. Oddly enough, it seemed to come from Natalya- the core, the origin of this mayhem.

Her eyes were now completely black, dark pools on her pallid face.

The Baba Yaga let go of Feliks' hand and turned her attention to the mare. Her voice grew louder as she used his blood to draw a circle around her neck, slowly and carefully. The horse seemed to become nervous, scared for a moment, until her eyes turned just as pitch black as Natalya's; and the poor animal fell to the ground, as if her touch had just killed her.

When Natalya's song stopped, everything around her came back to normal.

The sky, as blue as always, making the meadows around them shine bright with the green of grass and millions of droplets of dew.

Natalya's eyes, blue as always as she glanced at Feliks; a look that only lasted a moment before her eyes rolled back, and she fell to the ground as the mare just did.

 

The prince immediately jumped to her rescue, ignoring the pain in his own hand as he firmly held her shoulders and shook her.

"Ma'am! Please, wake up!  _ Natalya _ !"

Soon she came back to her senses, and shook off Feliks away at once.

"You have some guts", she spit out at him, "calling my name in vain. Did Vlad teach you that, perhaps?"

Feliks stared at the ground, too embarrassed to look at her in the eyes. "Sorry, Ma'am. I,  _ like _ , forgot my manners for a second. I was just, I was really scared..."

She sighed, and stood back up using Feliks' shoulder as a crutch. 

"Speaking of Vlad, just where's the man when I need him? Blood magic is much less of a pain when he's here. We could have just used his blood, and I wouldn't have to waste what little I have left..."

While the witch spoke to herself, Feliks remembered something he had wished to tell her.

"Ma'am, I think your familiar is probably at  _ home _ ."

"Home?", she sneered. "I haven't seen him  _ home  _ all morning."

"No, I meant... he's with his brother, taking care of him."

Natalya glared at him. " _ Augustin _ ? He's a boy of nine, already. He can take care of himself."

Her words made the prince feel appalled. He remembered being nine; a vulnerable child, certainly not able to take care of himself.

"But Ma'am, Augustin is so young! You know that just the other day, he was in great danger. Why won't you agree to let Vlad take him home- and I mean, in  _ your  _ home?"

Feliks waited for an answer that did not come. Natalya bit her lips, silent as a tomb. 

Lost in her thoughts, she sat on a stone nearby, looking at the vast landscape.

Suddenly, she gestured at the prince to sit next to her; and so he did.

"You see", she said, "it's been so long, but I remember being Augustin's age. 

When I was eight, I went to the Baba Yaga of the forest, and begged her to teach me her magic. Prince, you grew up in a palace, surrounded by gold and sleeping on pillows of silk; but me and my siblings were poor, and alone. Sofiya did her best to provide for us... but it was not enough. In the winter, it was  _ never  _ enough.

When I was nine-"

She paused, and Feliks shifted closer to her. She looked into his eyes, blue and cold as the winter she still remembered with fear. 

"I'm listening, Ma'am."

She scoffed him and brought a hand to her face, to wipe her dry eyes from tears that did not come.

"When I was nine, I started teaching Vanya about it. Everything I had learned, I told him; and quickly he learned, and used his knowledge to help our sister.

At first, we just used what we knew to thrive, and defend ourselves. But quickly, he learned that being a  _ sorcerer  _ is different from being a  _ witch _ . When my powers were blasphemous and a dangers, his were admired and revered, almost worshipped... and by the time Ivan was your age, he had become the most powerful person in the land; a  _ Tsarevich _ , respected by everyone." 

Natalya took a deep breath and adjusted her long, fair hair behind her ears.

"I gave him everything, and he made me into  _ this _ . 

Vlad... it was my blood that saved him from a certain death. In exchange for a chance at life, he gave me his everything. And he has been a worthy servant, and..." 

She stuttered, and her pale cheeks flushed all of a sudden. 

"... and a worthy  _ companion _ . 

But tell me, Prince: if I were to give him everything- if I made him not just my familiar, but my  _ family _ ! If I let Augustin into my house, and Vlad into my heart.

Would he betray me? Can I trust him?"

 

* * *

 

 

When the sun had already set, Feliks and Natalya came back to her home, tired and hungry after a day of horseback riding. 

As soon as they entered the main room they found Vlad, stirring the pot on the stove and greeting them with a smile.

"So", he said, "how was the first day of riding?"

Feliks collapsed on a chair, groaning at the sore pain in his hips. "I should have expected a really fast horse to be a challenge to ride. I  _ should _ ."

Natalya gently moved Vlad's hand from the ladle, taking it in her own. "About three more days, I think, and you'll be ready to go. You really just have to get used to it."

"I told you, this was just the beginning!", Vlad chuckled, and ruffled Feliks' already messed up hair with his hand- receiving another  _ long _ , low groan in return. "But you seem to be doing better than the last guy, at least!"

"Wait", Feliks asked, "what happened to him?"

Natalya joined Vlad's laughter, answering the prince's question as she served a hot bowl of soup.

"He fell from his horse, and died on the first day."

Feliks' jaw dropped, and he wondered if their laughter meant they were just trying to scare him; on the other hand, the two of them finding this poor man's death funny was a  _ scarily plausible _ option.

But Vlad's laughter stopped suddenly when he noticed that Natalya had placed a fourth bowl of soup on the table.

"Nata, I didn't know you were expecting any more guests tonight!"

He had said that like one would tell a joke, but Feliks heard the confusion in his voice. 

The prince smiled at him, and then turned to Natalya, exchanging a conspiratory look with the witch.

"Not a guest", she said with a smile, "a member of the family. Vlad, go get Augustin before the soup gets cold."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mythological notes as usual, for this chapter as well as the other: the Baba Yaga is often portrayed with a mortar and pestle in folklore. That's why Natalya is so fond of making her own herbal infusions and potions by herself!   
> And, a small disclaimer: I was in so much pain over the whole horses situation. You will tell me: but Ivan, it's absurd! Super fast horses! Unfortunately for you and me, that's a key plot point of the fairytale, and this is a fairytale retelling.  
> But hey, see it like this: thanks to the horses, we got a chance to meet Vlad, Natalya and Augustin, an odd yet wonderful family. Plus, you can imagine Feliks being absolutely BADASS as he rides a horse that is as fast as a plane. YEAWWH! >:D
> 
> Well, my friends, the adventure is coming close to its very end... but fear not, because you can bet that as soon as I am struck with inspiration again, I'll write more, and more... maybe even side-works relating to GPIW.   
> Thank you to everyone who read this far, and encouraged me to write this: we almost did it! Unfortunately the next couple weeks will be very busy for me, with school and life getting in the way... but I'll try my best to write Chapter 10 (the last, and probably the longest by far) as soon as I can, so I'll certainly be back to end this with a bang! :D


	10. The Golden Phoenix, the Iron Wolf

Prince Feliks left the home of the Baba Yaga with a heavy heart, promising to visit once again when his luck would be more favorable. Her gift, a mare of uncanny speed and strength, would prove useful one day: an hour or so, and he would be there to greet Natalya, Vlad and sweet Augustin with a smile.  
Nawalnica, that was the name he had given her.   
_The storm_ : for each step she took towards the glass castle roared like thunder, an orchestra of drums that matched Feliks' heartbeat and the adrenaline that rushed to his head.  
As he rode on her back, fast as the wind, he felt hopeful, unstoppable. Almost invincible, so sure that this time, he would finally be able to rescue his beloved King.   
And soon enough the castle was there, magnificent and bizarre as he remembered it to be.  
He found the stable near the crack in the barrier, and left a signal as agreed: a single red poppy, a dried flower given to him by Sofiya, tied with a ribbon to a small, young oak tree.   
The agreement was simple, really.   
He would leave the flower there and wait. Wait for Koschei to go on one of his travels. It was then that Sofiya would leave a signal herself, a lantern with a red candle, telling him it would be safe to enter and take Tolys away.  
Feliks didn't have to wait for long: three days had passed, and two nights. But on the third night, he saw a faint light in the forest.   
The shaky flame of a single red candle. When he passed the barrier, Sofiya simply greeted him with a nod and a conspiratorial look.   
There was no time for kind words and stories: the time to act had come, and he had better take this opportunity as quick as he could.

He knew where to look for Tolys, and sure enough, there he was.  
A white ghost in the moonlight, his silk robes glowing among the rare flowers and plants of the greenhouse. Feliks had never seen someone so hauntingly beautiful in their sadness.  
He picked a red hibiscus and approached him slowly.  
"Tolys. It's me."  
Tolys turned his attention to him, his eyes wide and trembling.   
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you", Feliks said, and gently caressed his face, leaving the flower he had taken entwined in his braid. "I'm here to take you home."  
Just like the last time he had seen him there, he was struck by the way his hair and clothes made him look so different from the man he had first met and loved. And yet the face was unmistakably his, although with a shadow under his eyes that Feliks had never seen before.  
He noticed that Tolys' gaze was gleaming, yet hesitant. He had not spoken a single word yet; and Feliks felt a wave of anxiety growing in his own heart.  
 _Maybe it's too late_ , he thought, _maybe I arrived too late_. But the warmth of his face told him otherwise; and he told himself to not let go of his hope.  
"Feliks", Tolys finally spoke, "I cannot believe you came again. Once again, you surprise me... you were so brave, and kind." "  
"I did it for you, my beloved."   
Feliks smiled; but his smile was not reciprocated.   
"I admire your resilience... but I want you to take your horse, and go home."  
Tolys took his hand, placing something in it: a silver ring, one that Feliks had seen before, and knew too well.  
"But before you return to your home, take my sigil, and reach my palace. Call for the election of a new king. My land needs it... the people need someone. But it won't be me, because I've chosen to stay here."

Anxiety turned to rage and Feliks suddenly, abruptly threw the ring on the ground.  
The slight sound it made echoed through the whole greenhouse.  
" _To hell with that!_ ", he yelled, "What has taken over you? Have you forgotten your duties?"  
Tolys picked up his ring, and Feliks noticed the rising irritation in his beloved's eyes. _Good_.  
"I have not forgotten my duties", he said, "that is why I am giving you this ring, and the task to give my land and people a new King."  
His voice was calm, but the twitch of his hand told Feliks otherwise.  
"Oh, yes, your duty is to your reign first and foremost. What about your duty to _me_?"  
"Things change", he simply responded, and sighed. "That is all."  
"I will not accept this as an explanation, and I will not accept the task you are giving me! Tolys, have you become mad?"  
No answer came from him, and the greenhouse became once again silent as a graveyard at night. Haunted by the ghosts of things unsaid and questions unsolved.  
A knot had slowly tied and untied in Feliks' throat, a fire in his guts was lighted anew: a painful doubt that he was no longer able to keep inside.  
But translating a feeling into words is not always an easy task. Sometimes, the barriers we build between each other are not made of bricks and stones, but of fear and selfishness, and unwillingness to extend a hand to reach out for one another. And so they both stood there, avoiding the painful sight of the person they loved but could not recognize at all, looking instead at the moon and stars and the flowers all around them.

"By any chance", Feliks whispered, breaking the silence and the glass wall built between them, "is it because you love him, Tolys?"  
No answer came.  
"Are you in love with Ivan?", he asked again.  
Yet again, no answer came.

In the castle's greenhouse, all kinds of flowers that one could only find in remote parts of the world bloomed. And so did those flowers that are familiar to us, but only bloom for a few days in the spring, to then wither and fall apart petal by petal.  
A bush of white camellias was in full bloom, so fleeting and wonderful, next to Tolys. The flower of sacrifice, and selflessness: an omen of how kindness can turn someone to annihilate themselves, hoping that the righteousness of martyrdom will bring them happiness.

Tolys spoke, and yet, he did not answer the question. Instead, his words told Feliks of duties, and of empathy and honour.  
 _Without me, Ivan would be alone._  
 _He needs me._  
 _I made a promise._

_Does he need you, Tolys, or do you need him? It seems like the fatal appeal of suffering has gotten you moonstruck all over again._  
Feliks' head was heavy with thoughts and his heart hardened by pain.  
But in that moment of darkness, he found the courage within himself to ask one last question.  
"Tolys", he said, "do you at least love me, still?"  
Tolys smiled. A tired smile, the first Feliks had seen that night.  
"Yes, I do."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yes, I am."

Feliks gulped, unsure of what to say next. How does one save someone who does not want to be saved?  
He did not know the answer, but the least he could do was try.  
"If you are sure you love me, then forget about duty... to your land, to me, to Ivan, and take my hand. Take my hand and run away with me."

  
They ran through the endless corridors of stained glass, and the faint colors dancing around them were spectres following their every move. Hundreds of gazing eyes, and their presence was overbearing, suffocating.  
When Tolys jumped on Nawalnica's back, a thunder broke the silence of the night.  
"Hold me tight", Feliks said, "we better hurry, I think it's about to rain!"  
"No... it's not rain."  
Feliks did not understand: the air was getting chilly, and the wind—  
 _Ah_ , he thought when he saw the horse gallopping closer and closer to them, _that's what_.

Ivan was behind them, followed by the trail of his wine-dark cloak and announced by the dazzling light of his jewels.   
Feliks took the reins of his horse as quick as he could, and she started running through the forest. The trees around them were nothing but an endless and dark blur: all that he could see was Ivan, coming after them at equal speed, _closer and closer at every twist of the path_ and it didn't take long until he caught up, riding at their side.   
_Well_ , Feliks thought, in a moment of absolute despair, _we are screwed_.  
"I see you are still alive and well, Prince... and looking into the eyes of death taught you nothing?"  
Ivan's monotone made chills run down his spine. It also made his blood boil, but he wanted to avoid a fight if possible— _if only Nawalnica could go faster, just a little faster than this...!_  
"Leave Tolys alone, or I will take him back myself! He has made his choice", Ivan said as he drew his sword, "and it's not you, _your Majesty_."

Feliks, as long as he could recall, had never been good at standing his ground on his own two feet: he did not think he could ever manage to parry a warrior's blade on land, let alone on a running horse.  
And yet, he found out as he drew his own sword, oftentimes fear can make the nerves quicker, and the arms stronger.   
His sword took blow after blow, in a desperate attempt to protect himself— to protect Tolys, most importantly— his grip was awkward, his blade weaker, and yet he resisted, he _persisted_.  
The sound of metal clashing on metal filled the air, the bitter taste of iron filled Feliks' mouth as he bit on his bleeding lip with each blow.  
 _Some more, just a little faster—_   
And yet, his beginner's luck could not last too long. Ivan's hits were strong, and his arm grew tired— riding on Nawalnica's back, he kept losing his balance— and with an agile swing of his wrist, Ivan managed to disarm him.

_It's over_ , Feliks thought, _it's all over_.  
He stopped the race suddenly, to gain some time— _a second, just one second,_ enough to tell Tolys that he loved him, to apologize, to see his face one more time...  
It was not enough, of course it could not be enough. Before he could even turn, Ivan had reached them, his sword pointed at his throat.  
"I gave you a chance", he said, "I'm sure you won't be so lucky to resurrect twice."  
Feliks' hands were shaking, his mind blank.  
What should one even do, the moment before they die?  
The last time, he could not see it coming. This time, however, he knew.  
Should he ask for one last wish? What could his last wish be? To be spared his life?  
 _No, I will not save myself begging and let him take my beloved into his hands._  
If only he could fight— if only there was still a _way_ to fight...  
"Ivan."  
Suddenly, behind him, Tolys spoke.  
 _No_.  
"Ivan, don't kill him. I will stay with you. It won't happen again."  
Feliks could not see his face, but he could see Ivan's face in front of him, a cheerful smile painted on it.  
"If you mean it, Tolys, get on my horse and come home with me."  
He felt the tight grip of Tolys' arms around his waist suddenly let go.  
 _No..._  
He could not even see his face, as he walked the few steps that seemed like miles, an insormontable mountain, the distance of an ocean. Only his beautifully braided hair, and the golden embroidery on his sleeves.  
He quietly sat behind Koschei, as he was told. And immediately, Ivan lowered his sword away from Feliks' throat.  
"It seems like this is your lucky night, for his words are a sweeter revenge to me than your death could ever be, _your Majesty_. You heard that, right? Go back to wherever you came from."

It all happened in the arc of a moment.  
It was as if the ground had fallen under him, and the world had ended in that moment.  
Tears made his vision blurry, yes, but— in the dark blur of Ivan's purple cloak, a light flashed before him.   
And then, everything was red.

When Tolys stepped down from the horse, he did not immediately come to him.  
He stopped in front of the body that had fallen on the ground, suddenly made heavy by death after a few seconds of spasms and rattles. It seemed unreal— dead, and static.  
 _Or was it?_  
Tolys kneeled down, and gently combed his fingers through Ivan's hair.  
"I know you're alive", he whispered, "I know you can hear me... I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I am hurting you. But I can't. I can't—"  
His voice was suddenly broken by a sob.  
He took the red hibiscus in his hair and placed it on Ivan's throat, on the wound he had just caused— a neat, clean cut, tracing the scar so perfectly, so evenly...  
"If you ever come to my home", he said, "if you ever apologize... if you want to talk to me again. If you promise you will change... I'll always be there for you, whenever... whenever you need."  
It was only now that Feliks noticed the red stains on his white tunic, the elaborate dagger in his hand, red and gold, glowing in the moonlight as much as the bloodstained jewels on Ivan's chest.  
"Bring our greetings to Sofiya, because we are going home. Goodbye, Ivan."  
Tolys looked at Feliks, and his tired frown quickly turned into a smile.   
Tears kept flowing from his eyes, like precious pearls, like glass on porcelain on blood soiling his face—   
"Prince Feliks, we are going home."

* * *

 

_As he gathered edible plants that grew around the forest (they did that every day, so that Sofiya could cook them later), Ivan sighed and grumbled. Natalya was supposed to keep him company— or so she did, usually— but today she was gone, and he struggled to find enough by himself._   
_She was a fantastic climber, and he was not: so he had to limit his catch to the plants that grew at the roots of the trees, and the few acorns he found on the ground._   
_All of a sudden, a voice called him from a distance. Steps drew closer—_   
_"Vanya!"_   
_Natalya huffed to reach him, running and struggling not to lose her broken shoes._   
_"Natalya", he said, "where have you been?"_   
_He noted that she came from the depths of the woods, not from the village: and yet, she had nothing in her hands._   
_"Just watch me, Vanya!"_   
_Natalya's smile was radiant, as she cut her finger on a thorny blackberry bush._   
_"Natalya, no! What are you doing—"_   
_In a matter of seconds, Ivan understood. Her sister's eyes were glowing, bright red, the wind changed and rushed around them. And on the thorns... on the thorns, blackberries grew, and ripened in that cold March afternoon._   
_Natalya's face soon returned the usual: her familiar bright, blue eyes, and a proud smile._   
_"Don't you think Sofiya will be happy to have some?"_   
_Ivan smiled back, awed and fascinated by his sister's sorcery._   
_"Yes", he said, "let's all celebrate together."_

* * *

 

It did not take long to reach the castle, and the outline of its dark stone walls stood out as the first morning rays filled the air.   
When they arrived at the gates, Tolys dismounted to speak to the guards. The men cheered, truly happy to finally see their King back.

Feliks watched from afar, wondering what he should have done now. He didn't know— he didn't dare ask. He watched from afar, staring at the red stains on his clothes, and in his mind the image of Ivan's body kept flashing, over and over.   
When he had met Tolys, he came from a battlefield full of dead men: so why was he feeling so appalled, so stunned at the death of one? Were the lives of the men he had seen any less valuable? Was Koschei the Deathless even dead, at all?  
The gates had been opened, and yet, Tolys did not walk inside after his men. Instead, he bid farewell to them to come back to Feliks, and mounted on Nawalnica's back once again.  
"Shouldn't you be going back, to your people?"  
Tolys mumbled something in reply, and nuzzled up against Feliks' back.   
_It's strange_ — Feliks thought, while they were riding Tolys had been holding onto his back all along— and yet, only now he could _feel_ the warmth of his body behind him, and the gentle strength of his arms around his waist made his heart overflow.   
"Dear", Tolys said softly, "there is something I have not shown you yet. Can we take a short ride, while people are still asleep?"  
"What is that you want to show me?"  
"My people's lands go further, furter west... I want to show you the sea I was trying to protect, since you have already seen the forests we come from. Now that we have a quick way to reach it."  
Feliks tried not to question why. Why now, why the sea, of all places.  
"Mhm. Tell me the path."  
"Just follow the flow of the river", Tolys said, and tighthened his hold, "and you'll be there in a heartbeat."

The sea was not like Feliks had imagined it: dark, menacing waves crashed against a rocky cliff, and the wind brought a briny scent of salt and seawater to his nose.  
The sun brightened the atmosphere, but had yet to rise fully, coloring the sky in bright pink hues of light and the shining, pearly white of clouds.   
For some reason, whenever he imagined the sea he had always pictured a vast and quiet place: bright blue and green ripples extending to the horizon and beyond. But this was so different, and somehow he felt trapped. Like a grey wave could suddenly rise higher than the cliff, higher than the sky, and drown him, Tolys, the rocks and sky, drown it all into nothingness.   
He watched the sea, and now understood why it was said to be a place of great danger, with all kinds of evil creatures lurking in its depths— but more than mermaids and monsters, what made his heart heavy was the conversation that was bound to happen.  
Tolys stood on the edge of the cliff, his foot on the top of a rock, watching as the waves came and crashed, as if the fear of falling down did not even cross his mind. Or worse, as if he had considered the danger, and decided his own death would be not a loss, but a relief.   
Feliks extended his hand to reach for him; Tolys took it, but did not step down.  
"You know", Feliks said, their eyes locked and hands entwined, "I've read so many legends about the sea. But it's always the seas of the south, where the Hellenic people sailed, and the monsters and witches that dwelled in those seas..."  
Suddenly drops of saltwater reached their faces from below, and Feliks tried desperately to pull Tolys away, to take him somewhere else, anywhere else.  
"... I know of mermaids and sirens, and witches, and I wonder if they do live here as well?"  
"Witches tend to live in places where people can't find them easily. I wouldn't be surprised to find one here, you're right."

He finally stepped down: slowly, carefully, as if he were walking on a suspended thread. He never let go of Feliks' hand, and led him to a quiet spot of grass among the rocks. They watched the sun rise in silence, feeling the heat on their faces as light filled the air— and the sea, the dark grey sea, finally revealed its true colors, the shining bright blue of a precious sapphire.  
"If you want to", Tolys said, "I can tell you about a legend of this sea."  
Feliks nodded, and leaned closer to listen.  
"Jūratė was a Goddess of the sea... with beautiful hair of golden amber and eyes as blue as the sky. One day she came to the surface, as she did often to speak to humans, and see that everything was good on earth.  
And yet, that day was different... the usual boats, the usual sun and sky. But on the boats, there was Kastytis."  
"Who was Kastytis? A God?"  
"No, he was a human. The most beautiful, handsome human she had ever seen."  
Feliks smirked, bumping into Tolys' shoulder. " _Ooooh_ ", he said, "so it's one of _those_ stories."  
"It is. She fell in love with him... and she watched him every day from the sea, wondering if she would ever be able to speak to this human, to hold him. It doesn't seem like it, but Gods... sometimes they fear us, just like we fear them. Without each other, we would not be able to exist: and so Jurate watched the man, and longed to at least hear his voice... to get to know his name. And that day finally came: a storm hit the boats of Kastytis and his family, and moved by compassion Jūratė rescued him."  
"Did Kastytis fall in love with her, too?"  
"Of course", Tolys answered with a smile. "She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, you know. He loved her from the moment their eyes met.  
But their love was against the laws of Gods and men: and so Perkūnas, the God of thunder, killed Kastytis with just one strike."  
Feliks' smile turned to a pout, disappointed by the story's tragic twist. "So it's not one of _those_ stories, as you said."  
"But it is."  
"But Kastytis _dies_!"  
"It doesn't mean it's not a love story."  
"I guess", Feliks scoffed, and leaned back on the grass.  
"Let me finish the story, won't you? There is a happy ending. Jūratė mourns her beloved to this day, and her tears are the drops of amber that the people find on these shores."

Feliks frowned at that, because to him, it didn't really sound like a _happy_ ending. Kastytis was dead, and Jūratė was sad, so sad that she cried for hundreds of years...   
"The happy ending", Tolys said, as if he could read his thoughts, "is that Kastytis would have lived an extraordinarily common life, and died an extraordinarily common death for a fisherman, and no one would have remembered him but his family and loved ones. But now, we can find Jūratė's tears, the ones she shed for him on the shore, and think of him... think of how beautiful their love was, transcending the barrier between Gods and men."  
"I hadn't thought of it that way."  
And there we go with silence again, Feliks thought, _avoiding the things we should be speaking of and ranting and raving about legends_ , and Gods... he wondered if there was something Tolys wanted him to understand, a message in his story, but he could read nothing of the sorts between the lines.  
Tolys looked away, to the sea and the horizon, and started fidgeting nervously with his ring— the same silver ring that he had thrown away and rejected just a few hours before.   
"The truth is", Tolys said, "the first time I laid my eyes on you, I thought to myself: this is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. I must not... I cannot let him go.  
But now, my dear, I wonder if this was the right thing to do... you, me. The engagement. I wonder if I haven't kept you captive for my selfish desires, and hurt you because of old promises I could not keep."   
Feliks struggled to find his words, trapped in the pit of his stomach and the depths of his lungs. "You... You have not. I'm still alive", was all he could muster from the back his throat.  
"You could have died."  
"I know."  
He shut his eyes to hold back the tears, for he did not want to cry in front of his beloved once more. But the memory of the boundless blue sky he saw after Koschei had stabbed him suddenly came back— when he looked at the sky, soft, white clouds were floating above him, and the shining rays of the sun.  
 _How could it be that high already? How much time had passed?_  
It was useless, useless to hide it anyway. He let himself go, and let his fears come undone without shame.  
"Are you telling me", he said in between the sobs, "are you telling me that we are not to marry anymore? That I should come back to my lands, and leave you here?"  
Tolys was looking at him now, _finally_ looking at him; his hair fell on Feliks' cheeks and tickled, and _wasn't that such a funny feeling in a moment like this_ — Tolys wiped his tears off, ever so gently, he left a soft kiss on his forehead.  
"I'm not saying that. But I'm giving us time and space to think, my dear. I want to talk more to your sister... I wish I had met her in other circumstances. I wish to know more about you, about your land... I want to give my all for you, the same way you have done for me."

* * *

 

_Unto His Majesty, King of the Land of the Vast Forest and the Northern Sea._   
_My Darling,_   
_in hope that You will receive my letter, I can't help but urge you to reply to me already._   
_It has been five months since I last saw you; two weeks since your last letter, and the date is drawing near. I write to inform you that I am well, and of most wonderful news: my sister is with child, and we all eagerly await your visit, because she says she does not want to pick a name without my betrothed in presence. I know that you have your duties to attend, my love, but I beg you to remember me, remember me like I remember you so vividly and come to me once again..._   
_Part of my mind is insistent that I remember to be virtuous, and kind, and to silence the part of me that is quick to anger, and quick to despair. But despair sometimes takes over: as happy as I am to see Eliška and her wife blessed with the happiest gifts that marriage can bring, I cannot help but remember that I am alone, and deprived of the very same joys, and waiting, endlessly waiting..._   
_Do you remember the day we met, when fate brought us together?_   
_Do you remember the touch of my lips as we said farewell, as I remember the touch of yours?_   
_Loneliness is an ugly beast, and distance its cruel master._   
_Come soon, so I can show you the castle, my room and my library, now our room, and our library, and our castle; and we shall walk into our wonderful garden, and we'll sit under the tree of golden apples and sing your songs, the echoes of faraway lands, our lands, and we'll dream together, my beloved._   
_Always yours, eagerly awaiting for your reply._   
_F._

_P.S._   
_As I said in my last letter, I'll repeat it here, in case it was lost. It was a most grievous task, but I did send the letter, the invite. I'm still waiting for a reply, alas, I do not think it will come soon, if at all._   
_The bird is back, so it should have been received. The crazy things a man does for love! But if this makes you happy, i will oblige. Love you._

* * *

 

The next time Feliks saw his beloved, after six months of waiting, he had a golden crown in his hands, encrusted with rubies and amber in the shape of tears.   
"For my Kastytis", he said, "no, I am wrong: for my Phoenix, who died for me and came back to life."  
When he tried to place the crown on his head, Feliks stopped him.  
"No, not now. You said this would be for our wedding, remember?"  
Tolys smiled. "I do remember. I remember everything."

That day they walked in the garden, and under the tree of golden apples, bursting with fruit and surrounded by flowers just like in the stories Feliks would tell. Tolys could swear he had seen a firebird perched on a branch; but it turned out to only be Erzsébet, glowing with joy and love in the way she smiled for them. Soon enough, her wife the Queen joined: and gathered together, they discussed and decided that the name of the baby would be Jurata, if she was a girl, as Eliška was convinced; and if the baby would be a boy, János would work just as well.

* * *

 

Feliks looked in the mirror nervously, his hands shaking like leaves in the white velvet gloves he wore, embroidered in gold and red, matching with the wonderful tunic that he got made just for this day. Poppy flowers with golden leaves circled his neck, his wrists, a belt of silk was tightened around his waist. Everything was ready, everything was _perfect_ : then why was this dreadful feeling taking over him, why could he not smile and enjoy this moment?  
Eliška stood behind him, slowly brushing his hair.  
"Feliks, there's no tangles to undo here. You're ready to go?"  
"Just a little more", he stuttered, and realized how silly his voice sounded, cracking and wavering— he was not ready. He was _so_ not ready.  
When he saw Eliška bringing forth the crown, he felt like he had just swallowed a brick, or enough bricks to make a wall. She must have noticed, then, because she smiled at him and gently grabbed him by the shoulders.  
"What is wrong? Have you changed your mind?", she asked, in the best motherly voice she could manage to make. Feliks shook his head.   
" _Good_ ", she said, "because if you walk out right now, I am going to follow you to the end of the world, and stick an arrow in your _derriere_."  
"I'm not going to walk out. I'm just nervous, that is all..."  
"And why is that?"  
Feliks hesitated. It was not an easy answer, nor he could pinpoint why he was feeling this way.  
"I wonder... Eliška, I wonder what mother and father would say, if they saw me right now."  
"Oh, Felek...!"   
Eliška held him tight, as tight as her belly would allow her. "They would be so happy. They would be happy, and proud of the man you have become."  
He did not know if this was true, nor he would ever; but in that moment, the cold eyes of his mother, the cold words she said to him before he died, collided and bursted into nothingness in Eliška's warm gaze, in her sweet and loving smile.  
 _If his parents would not be proud, his sister was. For every person who had stood in his way, many more held his hand for the whole path._  
And he _smiled_ , and took the crown from his sister's hands. Knowing that now he was ready, actually ready for this. And that she would hold his hand for the whole path, a short walk to be sure, but long enough to last for a lifetime.  
When they crossed the curtains and walked into the chapel, the room was crowded with people.  
Feliks spotted Natalya's back and her gorgeous hair, and Vlad at her side, a funny little hat perched on his head like a bird. He saw men of the North and people of his court, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw Ivan, towering over everyone else in the room, a bouqet of white roses in his hands— and Sofiya next to him, beautiful and radiant as she had always been and as he remembered her, with glowing river pearls hanging from her headdress to her forehead.  
And with each step he felt like he was walking on clouds, higher and higher as he approached the altar, with Erzsébet waiting in the first row of seats, gorgeous in the same garments and jewels she wore for her wedding— closer and closer to _him_ , and when Tolys turned his head, when their eyes met, when he saw the smile on his face, Feliks knew it was going to be alright.  
 _Until death do us part._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... The End!  
> Thank you to everyone who has read every chapter, every line, who has waited until now to know how this would finish... I hope the finale lived up to your expectations. ;u;  
> It feels a little sad to upload this chapter, I've worked on this fanfiction for so long, and now that it's over... I can say that I will miss writing this!!   
> If you have any comment, any question, please let me know! What made writing gpiw so worth it was, partially, all of the responses I got to this little passion project of mine, and seeing people actually being happy and excited to talk about something that I thought would interest... just me! To all of you who held my hand in this, for the whole path, thank you from the bottom of my heart! <3  
> -Ivan


End file.
